


A Slightly Different Way To Sail

by Captain_Erika



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Found Family, Light Angst, Light Swearing, M/M, Not sure if this will get graphic enough for the archive warning but I'll change it if it does, Redstone prosthetics, fluff later on, minecraft personas ONLY, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Erika/pseuds/Captain_Erika
Summary: Mumbo always thought joining the Navy would be the perfect way to live on the ocean. Getting stuck on a terrible ship changed his mind, but the newest crew members are helping him remember that life is less about where you are and more about the people you spend it with.
Relationships: Grian/Iskall
Comments: 36
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I read one (1) pirate story and my brain went PIRATES! so now this exists

Mumbo lay in his bunk, staring up at the loose plank above his head. He’d been on this ship for eleven months, and he hated it. But he was stuck here for another three years, so all he could do was suck it up and try not to complain. No one would care if he did. If he’d known he was joining a tiny ship with an intolerable crew and an overbearing, hot-headed captain, he never would have signed his name on the navy contract. But he was here, so he would stick with it until the end. The navy as a whole did good work, even if his life in particular was made hell. Every day he went through the same motions: chores, poke at the suspicious food that turned up on his plate, try not to piss off anyone enough that they’ll come after you. Don’t insult the crew. He’d learnt that lesson in the first week. Laughing at the wrong joke left him with a bruised arm, and when he’d tried to report it, the first officer gave him a sickly smile and told him to get used to it or keep his mouth shut. It was a tight-knit crew, and they’d decided early on that he simply was not one of them.

Mumbo glanced at his pocket-watch and groaned at the time. Just past midday. The crew’s lunch break would be over in a few minutes. He hauled himself off the thin mattress and prepared his mind to get back to work. At least they’d be landing tonight.

Spending time on shore felt like his only relief. As long as he was back on the ship before midnight, he could get to the bunks before the rest of the crew. Most of them would be too drunk to notice him if he stayed quiet.

He heard footsteps in the narrow corridor outside, approaching the bunk room.

“Mumbo? Are you down here?” A familiar voice called out.

Well, perhaps there were a few people here who were okay. A small smile crossed his face. “I’m coming, Grian. I’ll be right there.”

“Great!” Grian’s head popped around the door-frame. “It’s everyone on deck if we want to dock before dark.”

Mumbo nodded and followed Grian out of the drab insides of the ship and into the sunlight.

~

“Almost, Mumbo!” Grian laughed as Mumbo slammed his empty glass down on the bar table a second after Iskall. Mumbo coughed, not used to downing strong ale. He shot a half-hearted glare at his opponent. Iskall smirked at him, perfectly fine.

“You’re not going to beat me, Mumbo,” Iskall leaned back in his chair, the sound of creaking wood drowned out by the other tavern patrons and the slight buzzing in Mumbo’s head.

“Don’t listen to him, keep drinking with us and you’ll beat him in no time,” Candlelight bounced off Grian’s golden hair. He squeaked as Iskall playfully punched his shoulder.

“How did you even learn how to drink that fast?” Mumbo said, the last of the coughs escaping.

The nervous glance they shared was so quick, he almost missed it.

“Practise.” A thin tension filled the air. There was a wary glint in Iskall’s dark eyes, like Mumbo was close to crossing a line. Grian was subtly fidgeting with his long sleeves.

“Right.” Mumbo cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly and decided to change the subject. “So, how’s your first week been?”

A week working together wasn’t long, and he barely knew the pair, but he felt closer to them than the people he’d spent nearly a year with. Of course, that wasn’t saying much — he wasn’t exactly _close_ to anyone. He hadn’t even spent a lot of time with Grian and Iskall when they first joined, but the rest of the crew had quickly taken a disliking to them, the same way they had for Mumbo. Over the last few days he’d seen more of the pair, and they didn’t seem too bad. They hadn’t been rude to him, and sometimes Grian sought him out to help with their work, or Iskall beckoned him over to eat with them. Those situations didn’t leave much room for small talk, so all he really knew about them was that they were both excellent sailors.

The slight nervous energy Grian had been accumulating scattered as he leaned forward to speak. “It hasn’t been too bad, right Iskall?”

Mumbo felt Iskall’s gaze lighten as the other man reached for Grian’s half-empty glass. “It’s been okay. I think the captain’s got it out for me though. He tried to blame me for a frayed rope the other day.” He took a swig, smirking a little at Grian’s protests. “You can’t hold your drink, I’m doing you a favour.”

Mumbo laughed as Iskall held the pint in the air, just out of Grian’s reach.

“Yes I can!”

Iskall raised an eyebrow. “You want to repeat what happened the last time you said that?”

A guilty look flashed across Grian’s face, quickly replaced by a goofy grin. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“We spent a week repairing it!”

Mumbo listened curiously. He hadn’t heard much about their lives. Iskall liked his privacy and tended to shoot Grian warning looks before he could share much. “Repair what?”

“It was just a few planks, he’s exaggerating,” Grian spoke before Iskall could silence him. “I’m sure they were rotting anyway. Really, I was looking out for everyone by making sure they got fixed before someone else broke them.”

“A few planks,” Iskall muttered, “Keep telling yourself that, Grian.”

“Was that on your last ship?” Mumbo tried to subtly steer the conversation.

Grian laughed at that. “No, definitely not. Iskall, can you imagine? He would have murdered m—”

The soft stomp under the table told Mumbo that Iskall had probably stepped on Grian’s foot to stop him talking.

Iskall carefully did not look at Grian, addressing Mumbo instead. “It was when we were much younger.”

Before Mumbo could ask any more questions, the woman behind the bar rang a bell. The loud sound echoed around the room, drowning out the noise of the tavern.

“We’re closing! Start finishing up!”

Iskall stood up. “That’s our cue. Let’s get back to the ship.”

Grian mumbled something about wanting to stay longer, but Iskall grabbed him by the shirt and gently pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, Mumbo, you too. Let’s go.” Iskall seemed a little more relaxed, but his eyes said there was no room for Mumbo to argue. Raising his hands in mock surrender, Mumbo left his seat. Rummaging in his pocket, he found a few coins. He left them on the table and watched as Iskall half-dragged Grian to the door before following them.

Heading for the docks, they walked into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Mumbo was woken early in the morning by the sounds of the other crew members getting up. He didn’t try to sneak a few extra minutes of sleep, not wanting to be the last person ready to start the day. He got dressed as quickly as possible, trying to stay out of everyone’s way as much as he could in the cramped quarters, knowing that a night of drinking would not have magically improved the other sailors’ attitudes towards him. And with his growing headache, he suspected he might be less than polite if someone tried to talk to him.

After a light breakfast in a thankfully quiet dining hall, the first officer called the crew together on deck. He announced that they would be setting sail immediately. Apparently the captain had received word from the navy overnight, and they had been instructed to patrol a nearby trade route to protect travelling merchants from piracy.

Mumbo rolled his eyes. Sure, it was a fairly important duty, but what could their tiny ship do to protect anything? Only half the crew were worthwhile fighters, and as the newest recruits, he was sure Grian and Iskall would be even more of a liability than the rest of the crew.

The officer started to drone on about some dull chore rotas, so Mumbo’s gaze wandered around the group. Almost everyone seemed to have some kind of hangover. Plenty of bloodshot eyes and a couple of people were swaying slightly. As he scanned the circle the crew had formed, his eyes landed on Grian standing across from him, alone. That was unusual. He’d hardly ever seen Iskall and Grian apart. Perhaps Iskall couldn’t hold his drink as well as he claimed.

Mumbo chuckled, the thought making him feel a little better about losing the drinking race. Grian must have been watching him as well, because Mumbo caught him tilt his head and raise an eyebrow, asking _what’s so funny?_

Before he could do anything to respond, the first officer stepped in front of him.

“Something funny, Mr Mumbo?” He sounded thoroughly unimpressed.

Despite being taller, Mumbo shrank back. “Nothing sir.”

The rest of the crew glared at him, every face clearly saying _don’t insult one of our own. We’ll happily teach you what happens if you do._

He hated this ship.

The officer seemed satisfied enough with his answer. “Good. Now, all of you, get going.”

The circle dissipated and sailors set about the job of leaving port. Mumbo found himself securing ropes next to Grian.

“Where’s Iskall?” He kept his eyes fixed on his task.

“Looking for his boot,” Grian sounded very pleased with himself, “That’ll teach him to steal my drink.”

Mumbo laughed at that, but quickly stopped himself when another sailor shot him an angry glare.

“He’ll get in trouble if someone notices he’s not here,” Mumbo said.

“He deserves it.”

Iskall turned up a few minutes later, quietly swearing at Grian, who just laughed at him.

~

The sky was starting to darken. They had been sailing all day, but now Mumbo was the only one on deck. It was quiet; only the sound of small waves lapping against the ship and the faint noise of people milling about below deck. He leaned on the railing of the ship, looking out across the water. The last rays of sunlight leapt over troughs in the sea, bouncing along from the top of one wave to the next. He followed the gentle rise and fall of the ocean with his eyes, watching as the shadows grew quickly.

“Having fun?” Someone whispered in his ear.

Mumbo jumped out of his skin. He ducked away and might have toppled over the railing if he hadn’t crashed into somebody else standing on his other side. They both tumbled to the floor.

“Mumbo!” The person underneath him squeaked, and he realised it was Grian. He scrambled off him and looked up at the dark figure who had frightened him. It was Iskall, a plate in hand, expression caught between concern and laughter.

“I wasn’t expecting to get you that badly,” Iskall said, offering his free hand to help Mumbo up, “But it was rather funny.”

“Maybe for you,” Grian grumbled, picking himself up and dusting some grime off his trousers.

“That’s for my boot.”

Mumbo squinted at Iskall’s plate, trying to make out what was on it in the dim light. “What are you two doing up here anyway? I thought everyone was having dinner.”

Iskall looked down at the plate in his hands, then back up at Mumbo. “We finished early, and I noticed you weren’t there, so we thought we would bring your food to you so you wouldn’t have to wait until later.”

Mumbo was baffled by the kind gesture.

“And it’s nice to watch the sunset over the open ocean,” Grian added, “One of the main reasons I wanted to be—” He cut himself off, before hastily adding “On a ship. That’s why I wanted to be a sailor.”

Iskall shoved the plate into Mumbo’s hands. “Eat up!”

~

A light breeze had started up, and it made Mumbo all the more thankful for the warm potatoes. He watched the dark sea as he ate, listening to Grian and Iskall’s chatter. He finished the food quickly, leaving the plate on the floor. He’d take it back to the kitchen later.

The talking died down as the three of them watched the sun slip behind the horizon. But something caught Mumbo’s eye. There was something out there, catching the last vanishing rays of light.

“Do you see that?”

“See what?” Grian said.

“I think it’s a ship,” Mumbo pointed at the object.

Iskall squinted, and when he spoke there was a hard edge to his voice. “It’s a pirate ship.”

Now that Iskall had said it, Mumbo could just make out the tell-tale black and white flag. And it was coming closer. Fast.

“We’ve got to sound the bell!” Mumbo leapt up, empty plate forgotten, his feet already carrying him into the ship. He ran towards the room that held the alarm, not noticing that Grian and Iskall did not follow.

He shoved the wooden door open and grabbed the bell’s rope, tugging it back and forth. The clanging sound echoed around the room, and he knew everyone on the ship could hear it. Five seconds, and a sailor burst into the room.

“What’s going on?” The sailor asked, panting.

“Pirates off starboard! Tell the captain!” Mumbo kept the bell ringing. The sailor nodded and ran out.

Mumbo was there for two minutes before another sailor appeared in the doorway, telling him to leave the alarm. “Captain wants you to hold the wheel, stay out of the fight.”

Mumbo nodded, glad to finally drop the rope. He headed to the helm, a small wave of relief washing over him, although it was tinged with indignation. As glad as he was to not be crossing swords with a pirate, he felt a little insulted that he was the one the captain thought they’d be fine without. Just another way he felt excluded on this ship.

By the time he reached the wheel, the deck was swarming. Lanterns were strung everywhere and every sailor carried a sword. The helm was a higher platform than the main deck, giving Mumbo a perfect view of the approaching ship. It was almost close enough for the pirates to board them.

But he could see now that it was even smaller than their own ship, and while the figures he could make out certainly seemed well-armed, there were fewer of them. Not exactly a glamorous enemy, nothing like the stories of the infamous Hermit that sometimes prowled this ocean. But _not_ going up against a pirate crew so terrifying that there were dozens of horror stories about them was a positive in Mumbo’s book. They’d be able to handle this.

The pirates must have gotten close enough, because suddenly rope lines shot through the air, wrapped around the railings. Most were immediately cut, but two hooked into the wood by Mumbo’s feet. A sick feeling slammed into his gut as he realised he had no weapon. Spinning, he desperately looked around the upper deck for something to cut the line. He found nothing. A heavy thump drew his attention back to the ropes.

A pirate stood in the flickering lamplight.

The woman was shorter than Mumbo, but he found that didn’t really matter when there was a sharp cutlass pointing toward him. Sounds of clashing metal erupted from the main deck. To his horror, he realised that more pirates must have managed to get on board. Which meant everybody else was occupied. The real, immediate danger he was in suddenly dawned on him. He was alone, a razor-sharp sword pointing directly at him, wielded by someone who had no reason not to kill him. And he had no way to defend himself.

These thoughts rushed through his head in the time it took the pirate to take a single step towards him.

Mumbo stumbled backwards, his arms already up in an attempt to protect his face. But his foot snagged on a warped plank, and he toppled over.

He heard the pirate laugh.

He felt sweat pouring down his back.

His eyes squeezed themselves shut in fear.

But he didn’t feel the cold steel of a sharp blade at his throat.

Instead, he heard the screech of two swords sliding against each other. He opened his eyes, and Iskall was there in front of him, blocking the pirate’s swing with his own sword. Iskall managed to shove the woman away, and then the pair were a flurry of blows. Her moves were fast, but Iskall parried every one, dodging and weaving like a dancer.

A hand on Mumbo’s shoulder made him flinch.

“Mumbo, you okay?” It was Grian.

“I’m fine,” He managed to say, still fixated on the fight in front of them. Iskall seemed to be losing ground.

Grian must have noticed as well, because he jumped into the fray.

Mumbo lay still on the ground as swords swung through the air around him. Grian and Iskall were pushing the pirate back. Mumbo had no idea how they swerved around every blow. They worked together so smoothly, easily switching between deflecting strikes against the other and taking swings at the pirate. They read each other’s movements so well it looked like they’d fought side by side for years.

The woman was being pushed back with every strike she missed, and Mumbo could see the sweat on her brow even in the orange light. Grian caught the pirate’s cutlass with his sword and twisted the weapon out of her grip. It clattered to the floor just as Iskall pressed his sword under the pirate’s chin. Iskall leaned closer to the woman. Was he whispering something? Mumbo couldn’t hear over the fights still raging below. Mumbo could have sworn a flash of recognition passed over the pirate’s face, but then her expression twisted. She looked… Scared?

Iskall drew back, blade still by her throat. The woman seemed frozen, her eyes locked on Iskall, mouth open in horror.

He shoved the woman away, and the spell broke. She scurried towards the rope, looking desperate to get back to her own ship. Mumbo saw the fear in her eyes as she fled, like she’d gone up against something far more frightening than a couple of navy sailors.

Grian and Iskall watched her go. Grian didn’t cut the rope until she was back on her ship. They looked at each other, exchanging words that Mumbo couldn’t hear.

As he stood up, he heard a bell ring out over the fighting. Confused, he looked around. It sounded like it came from the pirate ship. He looked down at the main deck and was astonished to see the invading pirates retreating. Mouth dropping open in amazement, he turned to Grian and Iskall.

“Well, that was lucky,” Was all he could say.

Iskall had a slightly smug look on his face, “They shouldn’t have messed with this ship.”

They watched the rest of the crew cheering as the pirate ship pulled away, sailing off into the darkness.

“Come on,” Grian said, “I need a drink.”

There was a troubled tone to his voice, hidden under a thin layer of false cheer. If Mumbo hadn’t just been nearly skewered by a pirate, he might have asked if everything was alright. As it was, he was much more focused on the relief of being alive.

They walked down to the main deck, arriving to a roar of cheer from the crew as the captain called for an evening of celebration.

Iskall joined the whooping and dragged Grian along with him as most of the crew headed for the kitchens to raid the rum supplies.

Mumbo stayed behind, noticing how his hands still had a slight tremble from his adrenaline. He decided to pass on the alcohol. Instead, he quietly slipped down to the crew quarters. The manic energy that had flooded through him was fading, and he suddenly felt really tired.

After such an intense evening, he wanted somewhere peaceful to calm his racing heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try my best to update every 2-3 days


	3. Chapter 3

It took Mumbo half an hour of lying on his bunk in the dark to feel calm again. Even after several run-ins with pirates, he still wasn’t used to actually facing down someone who would be happy to kill him. And it didn’t help that that was the first time one had gotten close. He’d probably be dead if Grian and Iskall hadn’t been there. His brow furrowed. Why had they been there anyway? How had they known he was in danger? The questions rattled around in his head before settling into the realisation that they had known he was in trouble because they were looking out for him. Just like bringing him dinner, one of them must have kept an eye out for him, even while the rest of the ship was being attacked.

That thought sent a warm flutter through his body. Eleven months of no one caring about him. Had those two really bucked the trend? He hoped so. Maybe the rest of his time wouldn’t be so bad if he had some people to rely on. The overcrowded living quarters wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Resolving to actively try to encourage this possible friendship, Mumbo decided to see if he could grab a drink with them.

The shouting of drunken sailors grew louder as he approached the kitchen, but it was only when he was almost at the door that he realised the commotion was not the sound of celebration. It was aggressive yelling. He paused, hand resting on the closed door. Should he go in? If a fight was going to break out he would rather not be involved. He’d catch up with them another night. He was about to leave when a loud crash came from inside, followed by even louder shouting. It was Iskall, and he sounded furious. Mumbo’s curiosity mingled with a new-found protectiveness, and now he had to know what was happening. He pushed the door open.

The place looked like a bar after a particularly nasty brawl. Chairs were sprawled all over the floor and while the tables were sturdy enough to still be standing, everything that had once been neatly placed on them was scattered. Cups and glasses had been knocked over, spilling alcohol everywhere.

More concerning was the bunch of people crowding around one corner. He couldn’t see who or what they were surrounding, but if the yelling and angry waving was anything to go by, they were less than impressed. Scanning the group, he looked for Iskall, trying to why he had shouted, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. Or Grian, for that matter.

He managed to take one step forward before he was roughly shoved aside. He stumbled, falling away from the door and reaching out for the closest table to steady himself.

The captain strode past him.

“WHAT IS GOING ON?” The captain bellowed. The roaring of the crew was silenced immediately. The group shared shifting glances and parted to allow the captain to see what they had encircled. Mumbo leant to the side, peering past the captain and through the gap.

There was Grian, sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. He looked terrified. His red shirt was torn. Iskall was next to him, hunched over and coughing his lungs out.

What had happened here?

That was exactly what the captain wanted to know too.

“You. Explain. Now.” He pointed at one of the sailors.

“They’re pirates, sir,” Spat the man.

Pirates? They couldn’t be pirates. Hadn’t they just saved his life from a pirate?

“Pirates?” The captain seemed just as shocked. “That is a very serious accusation, sailor. Your evidence?”

“His arm, sir,” The man pointed at Grian. He was shaking, and Mumbo saw that his hand was clamped over the bit of his forearm exposed by the ripped sleeve.

The captain’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Grian, looming even taller if that were possible. “Show me.” His voice was clipped and harsh.

Grian shook his head, but it barely looked any different from the rest of his shaking.

“Leave him alone!” Iskall’s coughing fit finally subsided and now he stood up straight, defiance shining in his eyes as he stared down the captain.

The captain considered him, in the same way that Mumbo would consider the dubious meat the kitchen sometimes served. The careful weighing up of options and outcomes. Wondering which decision would leave him less screwed over in the end.

After a moment’s pondering he seemed to reach a conclusion.

“Restrain them both.”

Mumbo really wasn’t expecting that.

All he could do was stare as the rowdy crowd leapt into action. Three people hauled Grian off the floor, tearing his arms apart and pinning him against the wall. Iskall rushed forward, trying to come to his friend’s aid, but he was quickly tackled by two bulky men. He kicked and punched and screamed as more sailors piled on to hold him down. It took two people holding down each limb to finally stop his struggling.

The captain stepped over Iskall, disdainful gaze sliding past him and giving no response to the scowl he received. The crowd shifted to give him access to Grian, and in doing so blocked the small sliver of view Mumbo had from the other side of the room. Quiet murmurings started to rise from the crew as the captain studied Grian, and they didn’t sound pleasant.

The captain stepped back out of the group, but more sailors filled in the gap, keeping Grian hidden.

“Six of you,” He pointed to a few sailors, “Escort those two to the cell. They’ll have some time to cool off.”

Four of the sailors swarmed around Iskall, clearly concerned about him trying to fight again. They were right. As soon as the men on his arms let the pressure up to get him on his feet, Iskall was swinging his fists, striking at anything that didn’t get out of his way fast enough.

A valiant but futile effort; he was outnumbered. He landed a few punches, but it wasn’t long before someone clocked him from behind. It must have been in just the right place, because Mumbo saw him slump to the floor, hitting it hard.

The heavy thud seemed to finally shake Grian out of his own shock, and he started clawing at the two men restraining him. Before he could do any damage worse than a few scratches, a third sailor caught his wrists. The man yanked his arms, twisting them behind his back as Grian yelped in pain.

Mumbo shuffled further away from the doorway as the crewmen carrying Iskall made their way towards him. He noted that Iskall still seemed to be breathing as they left, so at least that was a good sign.

Grian was marched out of the kitchen after Iskall, and as he passed, his gaze locked with Mumbo. He saw the fear pooling in Grian’s dark eyes, a mix of dread and something that was… Asking for forgiveness?

As he was shoved through the door, Mumbo caught a glimpse of the arm he’d been trying so hard to hide.

There was a tattoo on it.

It was the crest of the Hermit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not much of a twist when it's tagged pirate AU is it


	4. Chapter 4

Mumbo sat in the wrecked kitchen for forty minutes, simply trying to process everything. The rest of the crew had called it a night not long ago, and the first officer had told them to clean up the mess in the morning. Apparently, a brawl ending with two people being marched to a cell killed the atmosphere. But Mumbo didn’t want to have to deal with angry drunk sailors right now, so he was glad they were gone.

Could Grian really be a pirate? If he was, was Iskall a pirate too? Or was he just trying to defend Grian? He drummed his fingers on the table. Maybe it was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe Grian had… Been forced to get that tattoo? Been kidnapped by the Hermit and forced to join their crew?

But all the stories he’d heard of the Hermit said their crew was closer than family. He’d never heard of anyone press-ganged onto that particular ship, and there were plenty of stories about the Hermit out there. And Grian’s tattoo had sharp, clean edges. Not the kind of finish you would be able to create on someone struggling against you.

His heart kept throwing up excuses and explanations, and his mind picked them all apart.

Then he started to worry about himself. If they were pirates, which _they couldn’t be, they just couldn’t be_ , what did it say about him? That on a ship meant to be full of honourable men of the navy, the only people he’d managed to connect with were two pirates. Would he be lumped in with them if they faced punishment? Would he be seen as a supporter of piracy? Colour dropped from his cheeks. If that’s what the captain decided, no one would stand up for him. In fact, they would probably be thrilled if he was thrown in the cell with two dangerous pirates.

Except they couldn’t _really_ be dangerous pirates, right? Grian, dangerous? He almost scoffed at the thought. His mop of sandy hair and goofy grin weren’t exactly what you’d expect to see on a wanted poster.

But then an image of the fight sprung into his head. An image of Grian in the thick of battle, his sword cutting through the air, expression fierce and determined. The way he’d batted away the woman’s every attack, covering Iskall’s back effortlessly. He looked like a different person. Intimidating, threatening. Someone who was used to conflict.

Maybe Grian was more dangerous than he let on.

But that didn’t mean he was a pirate.

He couldn’t be. He really, really hoped they couldn’t be.

Dragging his fingers along ancient grooves in the wooden table one last time, Mumbo stood up. He left the kitchen, heading for the brig.

He had to know the truth.

~

Lantern light flickered in the cramped corridor. The cell was just behind this door. All he had to do was go in and find out what was really happening. He wanted to go in. He did. But he couldn’t quite bring his hand to turn the handle.

What if someone found him inside? That wouldn’t look good. And how could he help Grian and Iskall anyway? When they confirmed that they were innocent, _which they would_ , no one would listen if he tried to defend them. He should probably just leave. They would be okay, the captain just wanted them to cool off because Iskall started a fight or something, and some argument got too heated and some baseless but impressive-sounding accusations got thrown around. It would all be over in the morning.

He could almost believe that story.

And he knew why he wasn’t opening the door. If they were pirates, what on earth would he do?

A sound dragged him out of his inner turmoil. Soft sobs drifted through to him from the cell room. The door was thin, and like everything else on the ship, it was bent and warped with age. He peered through one of the gaps between the planks.

The cell itself took up about half the footprint of the small space, with iron bars separating it from the first half of the room. There was a bench attached to the wall so that a guard would be comfortable, but the cell had no such luxury. Only a bucket in the corner and a thin blanket. The space was perhaps big enough for one person to lie stretched out on the floor.

Grian and Iskall sat curled together in the cell, half hidden in the deep shadows cast by the flickering lantern. Grian was the one crying, clutching Iskall close, as though he might drift away like smoke. Iskall’s arms were wrapped around him, a hand stroking his hair. Mumbo heard their whispered words.

“It’s okay, I’m okay,” Those were murmured sweetly into Grian’s hair as Iskall ran his hands over Grian’s shoulders.

Grian’s words were muffled, his face buried in Iskall’s shirt, “I didn’t mean to, he grabbed me and it just ripped—,”

“I know, I know,” Iskall kindly hushed him, “It’s alright now, Grian. We’re both okay.”

Grian pulled his head back and gazed up at Iskall like he was everything in the world, tears spilling down his face. “Are we going to die?”

Iskall didn’t look like he wanted to answer that.

Instead, he carefully rose to his feet, pulling Grian up with him. He took a few small steps to the middle of the cell, out of the spreading shadows. Grian followed without question. It looked to Mumbo that Grian would rather walk on hot coals than let go of Iskall right now.

“Don’t say a word my dear, just dance with me,” Iskall’s soft voice, so full of care and adoration. It was barely above a whisper.

A wave of guilt washed over Mumbo. These were private words, said in a private moment. And the way they stood together in the dying orange light, the motion more of a slow sway than a dance, was something private too.

Shame crept up his spine, crawling under his skin and leaving him feeling dirty, invasive, and knowing that this was not something meant for him to see. Grian’s face hidden in Iskall’s chest as they moved, Iskall’s gentle humming filling the air. Cradling each other as they rocked back and forth. This was something meant only for them, and yet here he was, spying on them. Peeping through a crack in the door. The need for answers was gone from his mind, replaced by the desire to give some respect to the people who could have been his friends. He took one last look before he left, creeping away as silently as he’d arrived.

Even in the fading light, Mumbo could see the tears bubbling in Iskall’s eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Conflicting emotions were still swirling around Mumbo’s head the next day. He tried to ignore it, to avoid thinking about them and forget the whole situation.

A completely pointless effort, because that was all anyone was talking about.

He’d spent the morning trying to focus on his job, but sailors gossiped more than schoolchildren. The nattering was constant wherever he went, rumours ricocheting around every room he stepped in. Not all the crew had seen the incident, and those that had were happy to fill in the rest.

_“—he roared, and he leapt at us with twice the strength of any man—”_

_“—beat off eight, no, ten of them, and then I stepped in and put him down and out on the floor with a single blow—”_

_“ —cut Vic’s arm all the way to the bone—”_

Mumbo couldn’t help but think they might be exaggerating. Just a bit.

It was surreal to hear all the violence they thought had happened. Iskall sounded downright bloodthirsty. If any of them had seen him last night, they wouldn’t be saying those things.

Some of the chatter he overheard was more grounded, but he couldn’t stand that any more than the tall tales.

_“Did you see his tattoo? They’re from the Hermit, the real, actual Hermit—”_

_“They’ll be killers. All pirates are, especially those ones—”_

_“They’ll hang when we next dock.”_

The real ones were so much worse.

His stomach curled in on itself when he heard that one, _they’ll hang_. It was a nasty reminder that Grian and Iskall were in a dangerous predicament, even if they were innocent. A crowd’s opinion was a fickle ledge to stand on, and if the wind blew in the wrong direction they would soon find out how fast they could fall towards a noose.

The thought hung around in his head for the rest of the day like a particularly dark storm cloud. It was pinned to the front of his mind, leaving everything else overcast with a huge, heavy shadow.

By the time evening came around, he couldn’t stand it anymore. The need to know what exactly was going on pushed him to leave the kitchen early. Without a glance back at the other sailors still enjoying their dinners, he snuck towards the brig again.

He was surprised to find no guard outside the door, and when he peeked through the gap, he saw no guard inside either. Grian and Iskall were still in the cell, huddled under a blanket. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob. It turned easily, the lock having fallen out long ago.

With a creak, the old door swung open. Mumbo stepped inside, quickly closing it behind him, just in case anyone happened to walk by. He would definitely be scrubbing the whole ship if he got caught.

Grian was the first to speak.

“Mumbo?” He rubbed his eyes. They were red, but from exhaustion or crying Mumbo couldn’t tell. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to know the truth. Everyone’s saying such ridiculous things and I don’t know why you two started a fight. So please,” Mumbo sat down on the bench, “Who are you?”

Iskall’s head poked out from under the blanket and Mumbo had to stop himself from wincing. Iskall had a large blue and purple bruise forming right where he’d been smacked unconscious. Mumbo felt a headache just looking at it, so Iskall must be feeling awful.

“It won’t be an answer you’ll like, Mumbo,” He warned.

The little bead of hope inside him that this was all something that could be sorted without anyone getting hurt had already been fading, but that nearly broke it.

“Tell me. Please.”

Iskall and Grian looked at each other for a long time, silent gazes forming an entire conversation that Mumbo couldn’t hope to understand, but they seemed to make a decision.

“We’re pirates, Mumbo.”

The bead shattered.

“From the Hermit,” Grian held up his forearm and Mumbo saw the tattoo again, the intricate design of the Hermit’s crest. Most of the colours were faded, but a few were bright and vibrant, as though they had been touched up recently. The dark lines were still crystal clear.

“Why are you here?” Mumbo managed to force the words out, but couldn’t quite stop the tinge of betrayal in his voice.

“We got separated from the Hermit a couple of weeks ago,” Grian explained, “I guess we picked the wrong place to dock. Your navy attacked the ship while Iskall and I stayed a bit too long at the tavern. By the time we wanted to go back, everywhere was swarming with soldiers. They had to flee without us to protect the rest of the crew. We were lucky to get away.”

“You’re pirates. You should have been caught.” There was an edge to Mumbo’s voice that wasn’t usually there.

Iskall looked at him in surprise, “... Okay.”

A silence fell over them. The pirates in the cell looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Why are you on this ship? Why not go back to your own?” Mumbo asked when the silence became too much.

“We couldn’t find them. Our rendezvous location is occupied by a change in navy patrol routes. That town is now a hotspot of legal activity. The only way we could think of finding the Hermit again was to hop on a random boat that sails through our area.” Grian shrugged.

“And you chose a navy patrol ship. Are you idiots?” Mumbo said in disbelief.

“Clearly we weren’t expecting to be found out.” Said Iskall.

“How did you? What happened the other night?” Mumbo still wanted answers.

Grian wouldn’t meet his eye, nervously fiddling with a leather bracelet.

“Fighting another pirate the other day shook Grian up a little,” Iskall answered, “We went to have a drink with everyone else to forget about it, and things got a little heated when those brutes started making vows to kill any pirates they come across. I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I tried to make some defence. They then turned to threatening me, and this little one jumped in to defend me,”

Grian looked incredibility guilty.

“It got a bit physical and Grian’s shirt got ripped,” Iskall gestured to Grian’s arm, “And, well, you’ve seen his tattoo there.”

“I see.”

Grian muttered something quietly, and Iskall elbowed him, “I’ve told you, it’s not your fault. It was sweet of you to try to protect me.”

“Sweet? You think it’s sweet to cause fights and show such blatant disrespect to every single person who serves in this navy?” The anger was back in Mumbo’s voice.

“Mumbo, when did you become so patriotic?” Iskall looked baffled, “I thought you hated it here.”

“I told you that,” Mumbo almost hissed, “When I thought I was telling someone who at least had _some_ respect for the uniform he’d wearing.”

Grian at least had the dignity to look a little embarrassed at the contrast of his torn navy sleeve against the pirate tattoo.

“But you still don’t like it,” Iskall pressed, unintimidated, “Why are _you_ on this ship?”

“I‘m here because _I_ have a sense of duty. Not that I’d expect a _pirate_ to understand that.”

Being here only because he had the pride to not break his word on a contract suddenly seemed incredibly important. That little sense of superiority, a tiny nugget of proof that he had honour, so it didn’t matter who he had almost befriended. Because _he_ was part of the navy. _He_ had morals and values, things that _pirates_ didn’t. So _he_ was a better person.

He didn’t feel like one.

Grian flinched back like Mumbo’s words had physically struck him, eyes filled with hurt. Iskall frowned, his expression hardening.

Guilt twisted in Mumbo’s stomach, and that wasn’t right. He shouldn’t feel guilty. They were lawbreakers by their own admission, and he had no idea how many people they had hurt in their lives on a pirate ship.

“You’ve got three days until we land again, and I can guarantee that the only way you’ll come off this ship will be in chains headed for the gallows.” He tried to sound tough, like the courageous, honourable sailor he desperately wanted to be in that moment. But he couldn’t quite hide the quiver in his voice betraying him — he knew those words were what he should be saying, but he didn’t have the conviction to hope they would come true.

He saw the tears welling in Grian’s eyes.

Iskall draped his arm around Grian’s shoulder, pulling him close. He fixed Mumbo with a cold glare.

“I’d just managed to calm him down, you could have been kinder and kept that to yourself.” He hissed.

The sight felt like a punch in the gut. Seeing Iskall cradling a crying Grian again was disheartening enough, but knowing with absolute certainty that he was the cause of it? It was heartbreaking. The apology got stuck in his throat. He couldn’t, shouldn’t. But that sight made him want to take it all back, to go back to before this had all happened. When even washing the dishes had been fun, because they’d been doing it together.

He didn’t know what to say. Iskall’s face said he should say nothing. Grian’s quite sobs pulled his heart to apologise.

But he didn’t have to work out his next move, because the approaching stamp of heavy boots on old wooden floors echoed in the quiet.

Mumbo whipped his head in the direction of the noise.

It sounded like the captain’s boots.

He scrambled off the bench, feeling Iskall’s intense stare breaking at the noise. With one last glance at the cell, Mumbo dashed out the door, carefully pulling it closed behind him.

He quickly darted into an adjacent corridor, listening as voices came closer. He covered his mouth to quiet his heavy breathing.

He heard the door to the cell room slam open, and the captain’s bold voice.

“Pirates. Time to talk.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I cannot adhere to any schedule I set for myself, good to know

Mumbo crouched in the dimly-lit corridor, trying his best to breathe quietly. That had been extraordinarily close. He crawled closer to the wall that separated him from the cell room and pressed his ear against it.

He heard light footsteps scuffling around, maybe Grian moving to the back of the cell. One heavy step forward. That was the captain. Two strong, precise steps and the door swung shut. The first officer must have been in there too.

Well, if they were all inside, he could make his escape.

 _No_ , he thought, _What if they hear me? Better not risk it._

Self-preservation was why he was staying, not the flicker of something in his stomach that felt far too much like concern.

At least he could try to hear what information the captain managed to get from the _pirates_.

No one had spoken since the captain and the first officer had entered the room.

Half a minute went by, and then Iskall broke the silence.

“And what do you want us to talk about?” He sounded wary.

“What are you doing on this ship?”

“Standing in a cell.” Iskall said in a flat, sarcastic tone. But Mumbo could make out the faintest of tremors in his voice.

“Funny, pirate. I’m sure the hangman will appreciate your wit.”

Mumbo couldn’t hear if Grian reacted, but he could imagine how sore the skin around his eyes must have been from his tears.

“ _Why_ are you on this ship? Are you part of an ambush?” The captain’s patience sounded like it was wearing thin.

Iskall must have noticed too, because he dropped the sarcasm. “We’re not part of any plan. We just want to get off your precious little boat and leave you alone.”

As Mumbo shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the floor, heard the captain give a dissatisfied hum.

“Are you from the Hermit?” The first officer chimed in.

Iskall snorted, “Of course we are, can’t you read?”

There was a crinkling of fabric, and Mumbo could only assume Iskall was showing off his own tattoo.

“You confess to breaking the law and sailing under a pirate flag?”

Mumbo heard the scratch of pen on paper and realised the first officer must be taking notes.

“Piss off.”

“Enough with the attitude, pirate.” Mumbo heard the captain take a step towards the cell. “Being uncooperative will make this worse for you.”

“Yes, because you’ve going to be really nice us if we behave,” Apparently Iskall hadn’t dropped his sarcasm very far away. “You hear that, Grian? If we’re good we might get a sweetie!”

So that was it. Iskall was trying to distract Grian rather than deliberately wind up the captain. Was Grian the only thing he cared about? Did he really think giving some brief reassurance was worth risking the anger of someone currently holding him prisoner?

 _Yes,_ said Mumbo’s heart, _he really cares about him._ It made him pause, just considering it. A bit of proof that a pirate could possibly have a heart. And he remembered what he’d spied on yesterday, the tender moment between the two of them. He tried to shake the thoughts out of his mind, but they kept poking, saying _maybe not all pirates are heartless._

The captain’s voice brought Mumbo back into the moment.

“Do you know what will happen to both of you when we make port?” There was a fury in the captain’s voice, but rather than being a raging fire it was like a frozen ocean — impossibly icy, with no wavering or rolling tones of emotion. Just a flat, empty expanse of sheet after sheet of such an impersonal, clinical hatred that Mumbo shrank down the wall to get away from it.

Another click of his boots; he must have taken another step towards the cell.

“Firstly, you will be taken from this ship to the town holding cells. You will walk there with iron chains on your wrists. They will not be comfortable. The guards escorting you on all sides will make you feel entirely helpless. You will be separated upon reaching the holding cells. You will both be questioned, although with this crew’s testimony and your… _choice_ tattoos, I do not imagine it will take long for you to be found guilty of piracy.

“You may be interrogated further when they learn you are from the Hermit. But only one of you will be needed for that. You, with your troublesome attitude, are likely to be sentenced immediately. No one will want to deal with you. As such, you will be dragged to the gallows like the creature you are. You will hang, never to return to your silly little pirate ship. And your pathetic little friend will most likely be forced to watch. I imagine that would break him even more, make him even more susceptible to the utterly horrifying methods of obtaining information that they practise on the mainland. He might be forced to watch your body swing until he gives up the location of all your little pirate friends.”

Switching tactics to attack Grian. Even without seeing them, Mumbo bet that the captain knew he’d struck a nerve.

“Yes, you, hiding in the corner like a pitiful child. How would you feel about watching him drop through the hangman’s trapdoor?”

Half a sob loudly echoed around the room, like Grian had been holding it back for a long time and one managed to slip through before he could catch it.

“That’s enough!” He heard Iskall practically leap forward, anger flooding through his voice, “Leave him out of this!”

Mumbo heard a hard punch and Iskall grunted. He guessed the first officer hit him through the bars. And then a metallic clang rang out, the kind of sound a person’s head would make if it was smashed into iron. Forcing himself to stay silent, Mumbo listened tensely. Threatening whispers that he couldn’t make out, then a shout of pain and a shriek of anger. The thud of someone being shoved to the ground.

“You can stay here until we dock.” With those final words, Mumbo heard two sets of footsteps leave the room and the door clicked shut behind them.

He waited a moment, letting the steps retreat. As soon as they were out of earshot he darted to the door. He glanced around the corridor, desperate to remain unseen. He didn’t want the captain’s wrath on his back.

Satisfied that he was alone, he snuck back inside.

Iskall sat on the floor, holding a hand over his face, the other clutching Grian’s arm. Mumbo froze for a second as he saw the blood dripping down Iskall’s face. Grian was fretting around him, a jagged piece of cloth in his hand, the same tan as his now-torn trouser leg.

“Iskall! Are you alright?” Mumbo rushed forward, but he couldn’t do anything to help thanks to the bars separating them.

“Here—” Grian’s voice was choked off by hiccuping tears, “Let me just—”

Iskall winced as Grian pried his hand away from his face. Mumbo caught a glimpse of a gash above his left eye before Grian quickly wrapped the fabric around Iskall’s head.

Iskall took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and managing a small grin, “Well, I suppose that could have gone worse,”

Grian let out a slightly manic laugh, but it quickly faltered, “Please don’t do that again.”

Iskall opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to protest, but quickly thought better of it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think that this would happen,” He gestured to his head and then his face darkened as his eyes landed on Mumbo. “And what are you doing back here?”

“I…” He tried to explain. Tried to convey all the confusing emotions swirling about inside him.

He settled on trying to fix something. “I’m sorry. About before.” He shifted nervously. “I shouldn't have said what I did.” He guessed the truth in the captain’s words had scared him, too. Quite a lot.

“Thank you.” Grian’s voice still sounded watery as he wiped his eyes.

Iskall stared him down for a moment before sighing, “Whatever, man. I’m too tired for this.”

He started to settle down in the corner of the cell, wriggling under the blanket and gesturing for Grian to hurry up and join him.

“For what it’s worth,” Mumbo said quietly, “I wish you weren’t here.”

Iskall only hummed in response. Mumbo took that as his cue to leave.

“Mumbo,” Grian called as he turned the door handle, “Wait.”

He was standing by the bars and even though Mumbo was across the room, he was still in arm’s reach.

Grain was pulling something off his wrist. It was the little leather bracelet he wore. He held it out.

Mumbo looked at it, unsure what Grian wanted him to do.

“Please. Please take it.”

Mumbo picked it up, examining it. There was a small red bead knotted in the circle, almost hidden by the fraying straps. It glimmered in the dim light, tiny sparks flickering in and out of existence as the glass moved. It was quite unlike anything he’d ever seen. Completely captivated, he shook it gently and was surprised when it emitted a small pulse of red light.

“What is it?”

“It’s something that could get us off this ship.”

Mumbo didn’t look up. “How?”

“Mumbo,” Grian placed his hand on Mumbo’s, bring his attention back to the pirate, “If our lives have ever meant anything to you, for even a moment, please just break it when you're above deck.” He pushed Mumbo’s hand closed around the bracelet before moving to Iskall, snuggling under the blanket beside him.

It was clear Mumbo wouldn’t get any answers.

He tucked the bracelet in his pocket and slipped out the door, but talking from inside stopped him from leaving immediately.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Iskall sounded tired.

“I hope so. We’re not going to get the chance, so I think he’s our only shot at surviving this.”

That hit Mumbo hard. Nausea swirled in his stomach at the thought of them dying. But who was he to choose who faced justice for their actions and who escaped it?

He stepped away from the door, carefully avoiding creaky planks.

 _You’ve got to get them out_ , whispered his heart.

He walked away quietly, desperately trying to ignore it.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning breeze chilled Mumbo as he worked on the deck, debating ditching the work for a few minutes to grab his coat. But it wouldn’t make the time pass faster, and he’d warm up soon enough if he kept going.

People around him talked and bickered, the usual noise of a busy crew. Everyone was working with more enthusiasm than he’d seen in months. The excitement of the whole situation buzzed around the ship, even though it had been a couple of days since Grian and Iskall were caught. Mumbo had given up trying to avoid thinking about them.

But he didn’t join in with the light cheering and passing of rumours, even though he was sure he could share the most accurate information. No one had been allowed to see them and Mumbo didn’t see any reason for any of the other sailors to sneak down to the cell.

His mind wandered as he tuned out the chatter, drifting around his time on the ship. It landed mostly on recent memories. Iskall’s bright laughter when Grian tripped on a warped plank the first time they’d boarded. Grian’s annoyed but playful expression and the little huff of air that escaped from Iskall’s lungs when Grian elbowed him in retaliation. That was all he’d seen of them for the first few days. Hard to believe that was a week ago now.

They way Grian had assessed Mumbo’s situation with the rest of the crew almost immediately, and after that the pair had started seeking him out to spend their time with him. The uncomfortable looks they’d shared at other sailors’ unkind comments, followed by jokes to distract him when Mumbo went ignored by the rest of the crew. The one evening they all spent together in the cabin quarters before everyone else came to bed, full of easy and pleasant conversation.

The kindness they’d shown him.

It was all twisting around in his head like the rope he was coiling up in his hands. Trying to reconcile his positive memories with the lessons he’d been taught all his life to show no mercy to pirates.

Distracted, he wrapped the rope around his fingers and only noticed when he tried to put it down, confused for a moment as it refused to leave his hand. He sighed and untangled himself. He shouldn’t try to puzzle this out. He should just let other people make decisions about the pirates. He could sit back and he’d forget about them. Eventually.

The crinkles around Iskall’s soft brown eyes when he smiled. The way Grian tried to cover his sniggers when he played little tricks, but unable to hide his all-too-innocent tone of voice.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget the guilt if he did nothing.

“Mr Mumbo,” A voice behind him jostled Mumbo out of his musings. He turned around, only to see the first officer looking down at the clipboard in his hands.

He quickly stood up straight, “Yes sir?”

“Take food to the prisoners tonight.”

“Yes sir.” He repeated.

Without anything further, the first officer walked away, still studying his clipboard.

Mumbo couldn’t quite tell if he should be happy about seeing the pirates again.

~

Mumbo stood outside the brig, delicately balancing the plates on his arm. He paused for a moment, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about bursting in now that he wasn’t sneaking around. Awkwardly, he knocked on the door.

“Uh, come in?” Grian’s voice drifted through the door, sounding slightly confused.

Mumbo pushed the door open, his attention focused on trying to manoeuvre around it without spilling the food.

“Oh, it’s you.” Grian sounded relieved.

As Mumbo turned to face them, he nearly dropped the plates in shock.

The last time he’d seen Grian’s face it had been red from crying, but now it was red from smudges of half-dried blood, as though he’d tried to wipe it away but not quite succeeded. It was in his hair too, dark crusted streaks standing out against the blond. There were red marks around his wrists, like someone had been holding him down.

Iskall looked worse than last night. He was sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, legs stretched out. One was wrapped in a blanket. The cloth around his forehead was the dirty brown of dried blood and the bruise on his head was bigger and darker, amplifying how pale he looked. There was another bit of cloth tied around his arm.

“Are you okay?” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Grian smiled at him, but the wince behind it was clear. “You’re not the only one who’s come to visit. Turns out your lot really don’t like us.”

Something in Mumbo flinched away in disgust at the words _your lot_.

“Guess we’re too cool for them.” Iskall tried to sound flippant, but it didn’t lighten the mood.

Grian let out a small laugh, tiredness bleeding through the sound. “Sure, Iskall.”

“Here,” Mumbo stepped forward, remembering why he was here, “I’ve got food for you.”

There was a small hatch in the cell bars to pass food through to prisoners. Mumbo slotted the plates through and Grian took them, passing one to Iskall.

Mumbo sat on the bench as they ate.

“Why’d you knock?” Iskall asked between mouthfuls.

“Oh.” He had been expecting a little more explanation about what had happened to them. He fiddled with his sleeve, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “It felt rude not to.”

That made Iskall chuckle. “Only you, Mumbo. If only everyone on this ship was as nice as you are.”

“They’re not though.” He eyed all the new injuries. “Who did this?”

Grian looked up from his plate. “Why do you want to know, Mumbo? I haven’t been here long, but it’s long enough to know your hands are tied when it comes to confronting anyone. You’ll just get hurt.”

He sounded exhausted.

“Couple of the big navigators early this morning,” Iskall answered him, ignoring Grian, “Not much we could be against them. I’m just glad to still be in one piece.” He gestured to his leg, “Mostly, at least.”

“It’s broken?”

“I don’t think so. Can’t stand on it though. Grian’s going to have to carry me off this boat.” Iskall almost managed to sound upbeat.

Mumbo could see through the façade; Iskall’s clenched jaw, his fingertips gripping the floor.

Grian sighed in response. He didn’t look like he had the energy to do anything else.

“Grian, have you had any sleep?” God, he sounded like a mother hen.

“Nah. Looking out for this one.” He waved his hand weakly in Iskall’s vague direction, “I just know someone else is going to come looking for a punching bag and he can’t exactly defend himself right now.”

Iskall looked mildly offended.

“Don’t pull that, you can’t even stand up on your own.”

Despite his situation, Iskall smirked good-naturedly and cracked a joke.

They carried on like that for a while, the serious atmosphere slowly being scrubbed away. It was just like the other times they’d talked into the night, laying in bunks or watching the sky darken. They should have been strangers, but Mumbo felt like he was reminiscing with old friends. Those ‘old times’ were only days ago, but they all settled into the conversation so comfortably that anyone watching would have sworn they’d spent a lifetime together.

“So why _did_ you join the navy? Really why, not that rubbish you gave us the other day.” Grian asked.

Mumbo squirmed on the bench, a little embarrassed at his previous outburst, “I wanted to explore the world. I wanted to live on the ocean. The navy’s meant to be full of good people. It seemed like an obvious choice.” He shrugged.

“Didn’t quite turn out like that, then,” Iskall pointed at his bandaged head, a darker note in his voice. Heavy tension settled over the room again. Grian shot Iskall a warning look, as though he didn’t want to risk pushing Mumbo away again.

Mumbo felt fury well up inside him. He looked over Grian and Iskall, locked up in a cell away from everyone for days, and yet with new cuts and bruises. Some moral people he was serving out his contract with. Grian and Iskall were pirates, yes, but could he really stay here for three more years knowing that the people he worked with, ate with, lived with, would attack their own prisoners? Was that what he was supporting in the navy? And more importantly, could he really stand aside and let Iskall and Grian die?

“No,” he said, “Not quite.”

The conversation lightened again.

Eventually, Mumbo thought to look at his pocket-watch. He was stunned to see he had spent nearly two hours with them.

“Thanks for the food.” Grian smiled as he slid the plates back through the slot, eyes still tired but shining like he’d forgotten he was on a death sentence.

“No problem.”

“You should get going before you get in trouble for being here.” Iskall sounded a little remorseful.

“Right, yeah.” Mumbo caught a glimpse of Grian’s tattoo, the intricate details of the Hermit’s crest hidden under fresh bruises, “I’m… I’m glad I met you.”

“Even though we’re pirates?” Iskall cocked his head.

Mumbo just hummed non-committally in response.

“I’m glad we met you too, Mumbo. Even though you’re in the navy,” said Iskall, light and teasing.

Grian half-heartedly swatted at Iskall, “Thank you for being our friend, is what he’s trying to say.”

Mumbo blushed at that. He couldn’t think of an answer, so he simply nodded and quickly turned to leave.

“Goodnight, Mumbo,” Iskall called out softly as the door closed.

~

It was late by the time he’d washed the last dirty plate and Mumbo found himself sitting alone on the deck, staring out into the darkness. He heard the waves, but the sliver of moon wasn’t enough to see by and the lanterns scattered around the ship were unlit. Everything was grey.

Well, almost everything.

The red bead in Grian’s bracelet glowed as he twisted it between his fingers. It was even more beautiful in the dark, casting a warm light over his hands, glimmering specks floating around inside it. He didn’t see how breaking it was supposed to help them. But he also couldn’t see how a tiny glass decoration could cause any damage, so what was the harm in trying it?

 _It could explode_ , he thought, and then shook his head at the paranoia of that thought. It almost definitely wouldn’t explode.

 _And if it did_ , said his heart, _you would still want to do it if it helped them_.

He sat there for several minutes, trying to lay out his options, trying to convince himself that the justice of the kingdom shouldn’t be opposed.

But he couldn’t quite do it.

The bracelet rolled across his fingertips.

 _I can’t stand by and let them die_.

He let it fall.

He heard the glass crack.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then a bright pulse of red light shot across the deck, blinding him briefly before shooting out across the ocean in every direction, illuminating the waves beneath it as it raced away from him.

He was glad no one else was around.

The flash was gone in a second, and when his eyes adjusted back to darkness, he noticed that the air was full of sparkling dust. It twisted around him, twinkling even though there was no light to glint off it. It was like tiny red fireflies falling slowly around him, dancing around as though it was buffeted by gusts of wind even though the air was still. He felt it land in his hair and watched it settle on his hands. He was practically glowing, covered in the dust. It was even more beautiful without its container, floating around him.

He went to brush it out of his hair, but flinched his hand back when he got a small shock. It wasn’t painful, only surprising.

He chuckled at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, a sailor, hoping that some magical dust would help him save a couple of pirates. He didn’t laugh too hard though, because his heart was already cracking into pieces at the thought of it being untrue.

But staying awake all night wouldn’t help them. He picked up the broken bracelet. The bead had fallen off entirely when it shattered. He paused, thinking for a moment, before slipping it over his wrist.

He walked away, the rest of the dust lazily trailing after him.

[](https://imgur.com/idw2lN0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the bit of writing a story where you have to sit down and y'know, write?  
> That's the bit I'm bad at
> 
> I do have a plan for the rest of this story, so I'm going to try to update once a week


	8. Chapter 8

Shouting in the cabin jerked Mumbo awake. He bolted upright, looking around for an emergency. He saw people rushing around, frantically dressing, yelling at each other. He reached for his pocket-watch, reading it as four in the morning as his still half-asleep brain finally shuffled the noises into words.

“Pirates! Pirates, everyone up!”

Fear dropped on him like a rock. _What’s wrong with Grian and Iskall?_

He leapt out of bed, joining the mess of sailors scrambling for clothes and then darting for the doorway.

His blood felt like ice but it’s still burnt his veins as he raced toward the brig, only to almost crash into another sailor, stopping him in his tracks.

“What are you doing? Get on deck, there’s a pirate ship approaching!”

“What?” _But Grian and Iskall are the pira_ _— Oh. That’s what they meant._ His heart, which had been threatening to burst through his ribs, slowed a little. Not much, because that wasn’t _great_ news, but it hopefully meant that right now, Grian and Iskall were okay.

“Get up there!”

And then his pulse spiked right back up again as he fully processed the information. He was expected to fight pirates. Probably on his own.

That couldn’t end well.

He must have frozen, because the other sailor bashed Mumbo’s shoulder as he shoved past him, muttering something angrily. Mumbo stumbled, catching himself on the wall.

More sailors ducked out of rooms around him, swarming through the corridor. Mumbo got caught up in the flow, pushed along as the bustle thundered towards the deck.

The group spilled out when they reached the top of the ship, sailors peeling off in different directions to prepare for whatever was coming. Mumbo looked around. People scurried about, the captain and first officer bellowing orders.

He turned to the ocean and his eyes landed on it immediately. The shape of a large ship, far too close for comfort. Even with the sun still below the horizon, there was no mistaking the white skull on that huge black sail. Pirates, but he could just make out tinges of colour on the other sails, all forming the same familiar pattern that he’d first seen on Grian’s arm just a few days ago.

It was the Hermit, heading straight for them.

His instinctive reaction was fear. His breath clogged his throat as every myth, every warning, every cautionary tale streamed through his mind. His crew had defended the ship from the last lot of pirates, but he knew none of them would be able to hold a candle to the fighting skills that any pirate who sailed with the Hermit would undoubtedly have. What would stop them from simply murdering every person on the ship in their mission to rescue Iskall and Grian?

What would stop them from murdering _him_?

But then Grian’s words sprung to his mind. _Something to get them off this ship. The bracelet?_

His eyes widened in realisation and his lungs decided to work properly again. That dust, that light must have been a signal, something for the Hermit to hone in on. They were here because _he_ called them. And they wanted the same thing, right? He wanted Grian and Iskall to not be here anymore, and the Hermit wanted them back. He’d be fine, because he was sort of on their side, right?

But how would _they_ know that?

They would just see another honour-bound member of the navy, sworn to destroy piracy.

His hand flew to his belt at that terrifying thought, searching for his sword. All he found was an empty scabbard. Horror gripped his heart. In his hurry to check on Iskall and Grian, he hadn’t picked it up from under his bunk.

The crew’s shouting grew louder and the Hermit was almost on top of them.

He whirled around, scanning the deck for a sword, a knife, anything he could defend himself with.

There! A glint of metal, something slim and shiny jammed in between some crates. He dived towards it, yanking it from its hiding place.

It slid out easily and for a moment he was relieved to see the silver of a blade. But then he realised it was much shorter than it should have been, and the edge looked dull and rounded instead of sharp. It was one of the training swords they used to test new recruits, snapped in half.

_Damn._

But he didn’t have time to look for anything else.

The thud of someone landing behind him told him they were already here.

He spun back around to face the invader, pathetic sword ready to swing. The Hermit was right next to the ship. Someone was standing by the railing, a long coat wrapped around them and a hat on their head. The sword in their hand looked a lot more threatening than his. They took a slow, deliberate step toward him. He kept his sight locked on the stranger, but the roaring of the crew told him more pirates had arrived.

He tried to stand up tall, but his hands trembled and he was sure his expression was the opposite of intimidating.

Mumbo braced himself for the attack that had to be coming, fighting to keep his eyes from squeezing shut in fear.

But the pirate only pushed their hat up, face still hidden from his view by shadows.

“Mumbo?”

 _What?_

The pirate took another step towards him and Mumbo held up his sword, poking the pirate in the chest. It was a pretty feeble attempt to keep them back, especially as their sword was a lot longer than his. But the pirate didn’t come any closer, although the small chuckle he heard as they looked at the sad weapon made him think it was probably out of pity rather than him being intimidating.

“You’re still the same,” The pirate said, “Good to know.”

_Why was that voice familiar?_

The pirate tilted their head up and the shadows around their face finally thinned enough for Mumbo to make out their face.

He almost dropped his sword in shock.

It was Scar.

His brain faltered, not accepting whatever reality was in front of him. Why was Scar here? Why was Scar on the Hermit? How the heck did _Scar_ become a pirate?

He knew Scar as the sweet kid he’d grown up with. The only other boy who matched his excitement at the idea of leaving their town to explore the ocean.

Mumbo remembered all the time they spent together joking around by the docks, watching the ships come and go. Exchanging facts and trivia, wanting to help the sailors and getting underfoot. Running around and laughing, playing out all the adventures they would have together when they finally got out at sea. Using sticks as swords and old shirts as sails. When they got older, beards beginning to grow in, they sorted through clothes to find the smartest shirts, always hoping to impress any captain they might come across. The playing turned into training, but Scar would always beat him.

Mumbo remembered the first time they saw the navy recruitment, a sheet of paper pasted to a lamppost. _Sail the sea with your navy_ , it had said. He thought it was perfect. It was less perfect when Scar’s family refused to let him go into service. The only real fight they’d ever had was before his interview. The hurtful words on both ends. Years of friendship gave them plenty of ammunition, plenty of insecurities to prod. _“I thought we were going together,”_ Scar had said, _“I thought we were going to sail together.”_

They didn’t talk again until after Mumbo had been given his new uniform.

Mumbo remembered the pain on Scar’s face when he told him he was leaving.

“Mumbo? You okay?”

Cool metal poked his hand, and although it was a gentle touch, Mumbo’s mind leapt straight back into fight mode.

He yelled, sound mixing with the fighting of the crew around them and rushed forward, forgetting that Scar had a _real_ sword, not some useless practise dummy.

But Scar must have forgotten that for a moment too, because he stumbled backwards, surprise written all over his face as he dodged Mumbo’s clumsy swing.

And suddenly Mumbo’s sword clashed against something else. Someone else was between them, their own weapon stopping Mumbo’s in its track.

“No.” The newcomer hissed, then twisted their blade against Mumbo’s, easily wrenching it out of his hands. It skittered away across the deck. The pirate strode towards him, not giving him time to escape.

Mumbo froze as the stranger pressed their sword to his neck. A red light gleamed in the darkness from where an eye should be.

“Doc, wait!”

The blade stopped just shy of breaking skin.

“What?”

“That’s Mumbo!”

“Your Mumbo?” Doc leaned in closer to Mumbo, seemingly examining him. From this distance, Mumbo could see that the red light came from the centre of some metal contraption on Doc’s face.

“Well, Mumbo,” Doc growled softly, close enough for Mumbo to hear his words over the noise of fighting on the rest of the ship, “We heard you have something of ours here,” He grabbed Mumbo’s shirt collar, “Where are they?”

Mumbo tried to answer, but fear caught the words and all that came out was a weak cough. Instead, he gestured vaguely towards the stairs that led to the lower levels of the ship.

Doc’s eye narrowed, searching Mumbo for any sign of a trick. Apparently satisfied, he withdrew his sword, but kept his grip on Mumbo’s shirt, deftly switching the grasp from the front of the collar to the back.

“Lead the way,” He muttered threateningly into Mumbo’s ear.

The three of them scurried through the fighting without incident; luckily they hadn’t been far from the stairwell. Mumbo would have led them to the cell anyway, but with the point of Doc’s sword pressing into his back, he was sure to be extra precise with his directions. Scar followed, watching for an ambush from behind. It didn’t take more than thirty seconds to reach the old door.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret,” Doc warned as he finally let go. He pushed the door open.

Grian leapt to his feet in an instant, his arms raised as though expecting that the door opening meant trouble.

“Doc!” Iskall said, “Thank goodness you’re here,”

“Of course we’re here,” The softness in Doc’s voice surprised Mumbo, “We were never going to leave you.” Doc retrieved a lock pick from a pocket and tossed it to Scar, who started work on getting the cell door open.

Grian looked relieved, his battle stance quickly falling away. He looked exhausted. “...Thanks, Mumbo,” He said quietly. The words were a little slurred, syllables slumped together and leaning on each other.

It couldn’t have been more than twelve hours ago, but Grian looked worse than when Mumbo had last seen him. He wobbled slightly on his feet, his gaze not quite focusing as he waited patiently for Scar to finish with the lock. The lantern light was low, but enough for Mumbo to tell that there was fresh blood on his arms. It dribbled over dark bruises and down onto his hands, dripping off battered knuckles.

Someone must have _visited_ them again. Anger flared inside him at the thought, and Mumbo found himself glad that he was standing next to a pirate.

Iskall was still sitting propped up against the wall. The cloth bandaged around his head was gone now, exposing the long cut above his eye and the bruise on his head that hadn’t gone down. He was only half in range of the flickering light, making him look even paler.

Mumbo eyed Doc, who was still watching him closely, before answering Grian, “I wasn’t going to leave you here either.”

Iskall smiled, but Grian didn’t seem like he’d heard. He swayed back and forth, staring at nothing.

The lock finally clicked. Scar swung the door open, “Let’s get you two out of here.”

“You’re going to have to help me,” Iskall gestured to his leg, still wrapped in the blanket, “I can’t get up.”

If Scar had been angry at the state of Grian and Iskall before, Mumbo hadn’t spotted it. But now he looked furious—whether at the sailors for causing the harm or at himself for failing to stop it, Mumbo didn’t know.

He could tell it certainly wasn’t toward Iskall, as Scar carefully helped him to stand, Iskall’s arm around Scar’s shoulders for support. And he really needed it, hobbling next to Scar and practically dragging his leg along.

Grian followed, but he stumbled as he stepped out of the cell. He didn’t even try to catch himself, so it was lucky that Doc was right there, pulling him up before he could fall.

“Grian, man, are you okay?”

“Mhmm…” Came the mumbled response.

Doc’s brow furrowed, and Mumbo knew what he was thinking, because the same thoughts were running through his mind. Grian wouldn’t be able to make it to the Hermit on his own. Scar was helping Iskall. Doc needed to stay free to protect them. That only left Mumbo.

“Help him.” It was not a request.

Mumbo immediately reached out for Grian, because he didn’t want to give Doc any reason to decide he shouldn’t be alive anymore. And maybe because seeing Grian like that was tingeing his vision red, protectiveness rushing through him. He wanted to sweep Grian and Iskall up, take them far, far away from anything and everything that could hurt them. Make anyone who so much as raised a finger towards them pay.

But he couldn’t do that, so he settled for snaking his arm around Grian’s waist. He almost stumbled as Grian sank into him, head resting on his shoulder, murmuring something Mumbo didn’t catch. His hand latched onto Mumbo’s shirt, curling into a fist around the material.

Mumbo could have sworn Doc smirked at him.

But whatever he thought he’d seen quickly disappeared as Doc led them out of the cell room.

He guided Grian after him, Scar and Iskall following behind.

Grian and Iskall weren’t leaving in chains after all. Mumbo had never been so glad to be wrong. And if everything went okay now, they would get back on the Hermit and sail away safely.

Some odd feeling rose there, a tiny pearl of… Resentment? Jealousy?

He decided there were more important things to focus on right now than figuring out his feelings.

They hurried as much as they could through the corridors, the noise of fighting from above deck growing louder as they approached freedom. Only two more twists in the corridor to go.

Doc turned a corner and he stopped so fast Mumbo nearly ran into him.

The captain stood in the hallway.


	9. Chapter 9

Sweat ran down Mumbo’s back. The grazing of metal on metal stabbed at his ears as a sword was drawn.

He tried to step back, but what with holding Grian up and Scar and Iskall standing behind them, there was no room to retreat. Not that backing deeper into the ship was much of an option anyway.

Doc widened his stance, blocking the hallway in a movement that looked casual, like he was kicking back to relax in his favourite chair next to a sizzling stove.

His face ruined the illusion.

Fury ran rampant in his human eye and light bounced off his metal faceplate at unsettling angles. With the hellish red light illuminating his face, he looked like a demon. Downright monstrous.

Mumbo was glad he wasn’t the captain.

And the captain must have been wishing that too, but he didn’t show it. They stared each other down, each waiting for the other to make the first lunge. Waiting for the opening that would come with a failed attack. They would have been circling each other if they’d been out in the open, but the narrow corridor funnelled their hatred towards each other. It would have hung in the air like a thick fog if it had been visible.

The captain’s eyes flickered off Doc for a fraction of a second, “Mumbo?”

The distraction was Doc’s opportunity, and he chased it. Mumbo felt Grian jump at the swords clashing, the captain managing to block Doc’s attack, but now they were in battle mode. No blades slicing through the air in graceful arcs, only quick, precise movement. Neither had time for games.

“You’ll hang with them for this, Mumbo!” The captain called out in between strikes, deftly dodging each of Doc’s blows.

Ice swept through his veins and Mumbo was sure that Grian must have been able to feel his heart pounding at his ribs. This was not what he’d signed up for. His arm around Grian’s waist hugged tighter, tremors running through his body. He didn’t want Grian and Iskall to die, no, but did he really want to walk up the hangman’s steps in their place? Ready to be bound and sentenced as an accomplice to piracy?

For that brief moment, as the captain parried Doc’s every move and advanced, pushed him back, gaining the upper hand, the terror racing through every nerve in Mumbo’s body said _give them up. Turn them in, take them down. Half of them can’t fight back. You could do it. You wouldn’t be punished if you captured them._

But Grian’s fist was still bundled in his shirt. Grian’s head was still on his shoulder. Grian was still leaning on him, even as the swords swung closer to them with every second.

And Mumbo found he couldn’t.

Just in time, too.

Doc faltered, the only mistake he’d made. His boot caught on the uneven floorboards, ancient and bent with decades of use, in the same second the captain took another swing. They were close, too close, and Mumbo couldn’t drag Grian away, couldn’t put any more space between them and the danger because there was no space, only walls on each side.

The captain’s sword dropped down before Doc could raise his own to stop it. The captain did not miss.

A hollow sound rang out, like a struck bell, reverb echoing around the hall, but Mumbo didn’t have the time to process that the sound came from Doc’s arm before something flashed silver in his vision. Already high on fear and adrenaline, instincts yanked at his muscles and he flinched away, his body curling around Grian, free arm darting up over their faces, legs shoving both of them into the wall in an attempt to flee the captain’s deflected sword.

In that half of a fraction of a split second, everything was fine.

And then pain shot along his back.

He yelled, almost collapsing onto Grian and pressing him further into the wall as his legs buckled, only just catching himself before he hit the floor.

The pain battered his senses, every fear-frozen nerve now set alight. He faintly heard a bash and a thud through a fuzzy roaring in his ears, and then strong hands were picking him up, steadying him, holding his chin and directing his vision. A red light and a metal face. It was Doc. Grian’s face popped up next to him. His mouth was moving, but it took a few seconds before Mumbo could process anything he was hearing.

“—bo? Mumbo?” Grian didn’t look like he quite understood what was happening, but there was panic in his eyes nonetheless.

“It’s okay,” Doc gently moved him aside, focusing on Mumbo. Did he look… Almost concerned? But whatever kindness Mumbo thought he’d seen flicker across Doc’s face disappeared quickly. Doc let go of his shoulders and stepped back, lifting his feet over something that Mumbo realised was the captain’s prone body. Doc must have managed to knock him out.

“We need to go.” Doc tried to pry Mumbo’s shirt from Grian’s grip, unsuccessfully. “Grian,” he huffed, “Let go.”

“Doc, we can’t leave him here!” Iskall sounded distressed and Mumbo turned to look at him, the movement leaving his head spinning and bile rising in his throat.

“We don’t have time for this! He’s a member of the navy!”

Iskall stood as tall as he could, “You heard that awful captain! He can’t stay!”

“We came here for you and Grian, not for some random sailor,” Doc growled, “Now come _on!_ ”

Iskall returned Doc’s glare, pulling himself out of Scar’s grasp and hobbling backwards to lean on the wall, “Not without him.”

“... We can’t just leave him here to die, Doc.” Scar said quietly.

“Oh for _—_ ,” Doc pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not you too, Scar.” He turned back to Mumbo, “Do you want to come?” His voice was gruff and his fingers twitched on his sword’s handle, clearly not wanting to spend another second here.

This would be a big step. Wilfully defying the kingdom by choosing to board a pirate ship. But the pain in his back was still burning — he tried to think of something, _anything_ , that would really give him a _reason_ to stay. But the only memories that floated up through the pain were of Iskall and Grian. Every good memory he had of this damn ship was with them. Even now, despite not being in his right mind, Grian was still here, holding onto him. He didn’t want him to let go. When did he get so addicted to them? How could he stay without them?

“I want to get off this ship.”

Grian smiled, while Doc rolled his eyes, “Of course you do. Are you alright to walk on your own?”

Mumbo nodded, biting back nausea.

Doc reached for Grian to help him, “Come on then, before some—”

“Don’t move, pirates.”

It came from behind them. Mumbo whipped his head toward it, sending the world spinning. It wasn’t the captain.

It was the first officer, his arm wrapped around Iskall’s neck and a knife hovering above his face.

Horror mixed with the sickness in Mumbo’s stomach and for a moment his pain seemed irrelevant. He felt Grian tense up next to him. Doc froze, hand still reaching out to help Grian off him.

Scar twirled around, sword quickly drawn. Mumbo couldn’t see his face, but he knew they must have similarly furious expressions.

The first officer backed away a few paces, dragging Iskall along with him.

He pressed the knife to Iskall’s eyelid. Red slowly welled up around it, just a few drops. Enough to scare Mumbo to his core.

The first officer leant in as if to whisper in Iskall’s ear, but he spoke loudly, “Told you I’d take out your eye next time.”

Scar took a step forward.

The first officer didn’t hesitate to slash the knife down Iskall’s face.

Iskall’s screaming was terrible.

It was so loud, stuffed so full of fear and pain that it burst as soon as it hit the air, split like a sack pouring out grain. It filled the corridor, tearing through Mumbo’s mind and consuming his world, drowning out the fighting still going on above them and easily blocking any other sounds that might have made themselves known.

If it had been someone else, at some other time in his life, Mumbo might have simply given in to the shock trying to freeze his muscles.

But it wasn’t someone else. It was Iskall. Mumbo wrenched himself up, darting past Doc and Grian. The pain flared along his back, but it didn’t matter, because he would never be able to get those awful strangled screams out of his memory.

Past Scar, and then he saw the first officer’s face, expression twisting from glee to concern, and he saw the knife dripping with Iskall’s blood going for his throat as the officer realised he wasn’t going to stop his charge.

All Mumbo could do was move faster, shooting across the floor. He barrelled into them, knocking them both down and flailing at the knife, his only thought to get it away from Iskall. The second he felt metal he grabbed, jerking it from the officer’s grasp.

Of course, when his palms erupted in pain he realised he probably shouldn’t have grabbed it by the blade. But he wasn’t going to let go when the alternative was the knife being buried in Iskall’s throat.

Scar was there in an instant, and the first officer stopped struggling as Scar’s boot connected with his head.

Mumbo felt hands on him again, pulling him up. It was Doc, prying the knife out of his hands. Mumbo yelped as the movement accidentally pushed the knife deeper before it retreated. Iskall’s screams were starting to quiet. Not gone, and they still echoed in Mumbo’s mind, but his shrieks were becoming whimpers, choked with gasps and sobs.

Doc grabbed his wrists, ripping Mumbo’s attention from Iskall. Doc pulled him out of the way, taking a closer look at the blood streaming from his hands. There was a lot of it. It was already running down his arms, soaking into his sleeves, dripping from his palms onto the floor.

“Damn,” He growled, “Let’s go.”

There were no arguments this time.

Doc dragged him along, grabbing Grian on his way. It was a good thing too, because the nausea hit Mumbo again full-force at the fast motion, his vision swirling. Scar must have been supporting Iskall, because his pained crying followed them as they hurried to the deck.

Mumbo’s sight flickered in and out as they crossed the deck. It took all his focus to follow Doc through the fighting, even though he was being led. There was so much _noise_ , clanging and clashing and shouting, the hot pain tearing through his back and hands with every step. People were surrounding them, hovering on the edges of Mumbo’s vision, somewhere he was sure he should be able to see, but right now they might as well have been shadows, twisting around in a deadly dance. He had no idea if they were protecting or attacking.

And then he was pulled to a halt. Had Doc stopped? Yes, he had. Mumbo tried to look around. The dark dots were growing bigger, but between them was the wooden floor of a deck, someone in a captain’s hat, but not his captain. Not his ship, either.

He was sure there was talking, little nattering noises scratching at his ears, but it all sounded garbled and faded.

Grian swam into focus in the pinpricks of light between the darkness, and then he was swallowed completely. 


	10. Chapter 10

Gentle talking was the first thing Mumbo noticed. Hushed voices in the dark. But, hang on, it wasn’t as dark anymore—his mind drifted in a grey mist, simply listening to the words too quiet to understand.

He cracked open his eyes and immediately shut them again with a groan, bright light slicing through his dark haven. He tried again, slower this time.

He saw a porthole, a strong beam of sunlight shining through it, directly onto him. Looking away from the brightness, he found that he was somewhere unfamiliar. A large room, light and warm, lined with beds. The feeling of a soft surface beneath him suddenly made sense. Two of the beds were occupied, with a third person leaning on the wall, calm gestures accompanying their conversation.

He tried to sit up, but a spark of pain made him quickly abandon the idea.

The voices stopped when he moved. Oh. Scar was the standing person, coat draped over his arms, hat resting on a small stool. And he had been talking to a familiar mop of sandy hair. The rest of Grian was snuggled up under a blanket. Which meant that the last person must have been Iska—

_Iskall._

Mumbo snapped awake, brain suddenly racing. It flooded him with screaming memories. Was Iskall okay? Was Iskall alright? Oh God, _his face—_

Mumbo struggled, fighting the covers, desperately trying to get out of the bed, to see Iskall, _oh, god, Iskall—_

Scar was by his side in a flash, hands on his shoulders, softly but firmly pushing him back down.

“Hey, hey, Mumbo, it’s okay, it’s okay,” His calm voice broke through Mumbo’s panic for a moment, “What’s wrong, Mumbo?”

He choked out a gasp, fear not quite yet subsided, “Iskall! Is Iskall—Is Iskall okay?”

“Yes, Mumbo, he’s fine, see?” Scar tipped his head towards Iskall’s bed, “He’s just over there, sleeping. He’s okay.”

Worry still crawled across his skin, “But—But—His face—!”

“He’ll be okay, Mumbo,” Scar started to gently rub his shoulders, “He’ll be fine,” Warmth ran through Mumbo at the motions, the panic burning itself out. “We have people here who will help him, don’t you worry.”

He tried to respond, but ending up yawning instead.

Scar chuckled, “All you need to worry about is getting back to sleep.”

~

Scar and Grian were gone the next time he woke up. The light was dimmer this time at least, so he figured it must be early evening. The deep tiredness was gone as well. He shifted slightly, causing a sharp sting along his back. He winced. It still hurt, but not as much as before. It would be manageable. He glanced around the room. Iskall was still in the same bed, sleeping peacefully enough to set Mumbo’s mind at ease.

There was someone else in there with them, though. A woman he didn’t recognise sat on one of the beds near the door, polishing a sword in her lap. A pair of goggles sat on her head, doing only a mediocre job of keeping her long blonde hair out of her way.

Seemingly sensing his gaze, she paused her work and looked directly at him.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, and Mumbo couldn’t help but feel he was being examined, like her gaze was peeling back every layer of him, studying each section methodically for weakness. Her carefully neutral expression gave nothing away. She seemed to make a decision.

She stood up, and for a second Mumbo was worried that she might attack him with that newly-shined sword, but she left it on the bed as she walked to the door, quietly opening it. Her eerily silent footsteps didn’t put him at ease. She gave him one last glance before calling out into the corridor.

“Xisuma! He’s awake!”

_Xisuma… Xisuma… Why is that familiar?_

Mumbo’s mind fumbled around, trying to find an answer.

_Oh. Yeah. That’s why._

He was on the Hermit. Of _course_ the Hermit’s captain would want to see him.

But to do what? Even after everything, on this ship, wouldn’t he still be seen as part of the navy? An enemy? Was that why the woman was still keeping a watchful eye on him? Was that why she had a _sword_? So that Captain Xisuma could quickly dispatch him after some, some, some, _interrogation_? Oh, they were going to kill him, they were _going to kill him_ —

He didn’t notice the new person in the room until they cleared their throat.

“Are you alright?”

He jumped, his vision suddenly focusing again. A man hovered over him, genuine concern on his face and a captain’s hat on his head.

“Fine!” Mumbo squeaked, and then mentally cursed himself. If the infamous _pirate captain Xisuma_ was going to kill him, he really didn’t want his last words to sound quite so… scared.

And Xisuma must have picked up on it because he took a small, slow step back.

“That’s good to hear,” He said, tone gentle and even, like he was trying to calm a frightened animal, “I’m Xisuma, captain of the Hermit. But I think you already knew that.” He gave Mumbo a friendly smile as he gestured to his hat, “And you are?”

It took Mumbo a second to steady his voice.

“Mumbo,” He said.

“Welcome to the Hermit, Mumbo,” Xisuma was still smiling, and for all Mumbo’s fearful analysing, he couldn’t see a shred of dishonesty, “Do you feel alright to get up? I’d like to talk somewhere we won’t disturb Iskall.”

“Okay.” Mumbo carefully untangled himself from the covers, grimacing slightly as the movement tugged at his back. It was only then, with his hands out from under the blanket that he realised they were wound tightly in bandages, completely covering his skin up to the wrist. He flexed them experimentally. Both hands still bent, but with a strange resistance. More worrying was the idea that he would struggle to hold a weapon if he had to defend himself.

Xisuma was already at the door, and while Mumbo didn’t necessarily feel _threatened_ by him, he didn’t really want to go anywhere with him either. Although the other option was disrespect the leader of a bunch of pirates by refusing his request and then stay in the same room as the very intimidating woman with a sword.

He followed Xisuma out the door.

They walked in silence until they reached the deck. Mumbo noticed he had been right about the time, the sun hanging low in the sky as faint wisps of cloud passed over it. A few people milled around, but they all seemed to be enjoying each other’s company rather than working. Was it better for him that he wasn’t alone with Xisuma? _Probably not_ , he thought, _They look like they would definitely side with him over me_.

Xisuma sat down on a barrel, gesturing to a crate next to it, “Take a seat,”

Mumbo did so hesitantly, with a nervous glance over to the small crowd.

Xisuma seemed a little concerned, “No one here is going to hurt you, Mumbo,”

Concerned… About how he was feeling, rather than the safety of his crew with a navy sailor on board?

“From what I’ve heard, you’re quite the hero.”

Mumbo looked down at his swaddled hands.

“Scar told me you saved Iskall.”

He looked back to Xisuma.

“And that it was you who sent us Grian’s distress signal. We would never have found them in time without you.” He smiled, “Thank you for saving them, Mumbo. I don’t know what I would have done if we’d lost them.” The sheer amount of sincerity in Xisuma’s eyes was overwhelming.

“You’re, uh, you’re welcome... Sir?”

“Just Xisuma is fine,” He chuckled, “Don’t worry too much about titles here.”

A little of the tension holding Mumbo taut slipped away. Neither spoke for a moment, both watching the calm ocean and taking in the gentle breeze. This silence was more comfortable than the one before had been, but Xisuma looked pensive.

“Why did you do it?”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, I’m only curious. It was very brave, but why would you risk yourself to help a couple of pirates?”

Mumbo’s brain struggled to find the right way to answer, “They… They were very kind to me…” He said lamely, hoping that Xisuma wouldn’t ask for further explanation. He didn’t exactly want to drag someone through all his emotions right now.

Xisuma took pity on him. “Well, I’m glad they were. And to repay your kindness, we’re plotting a course for a safe port to drop you off. I’m sure you won’t want to spend too long on our ship. It’ll only be a week.” Even with a joking tone, Xisuma’s words still stung a little, a subtle reminder of the giant raspberry Mumbo was currently blowing at his past morals with his actions.

Xisuma stood up, casually wiping a speck of dirt off his trousers. “Well, I have some business to attend to. You just wait here, and I’ll send Doc up to deal with your hands.”

“My hands?” Why did Doc need to deal with them? Nothing that bad could have happened, right? Yes, stopping a knife blade-first was typically not a wise decision and he’d definitely have some scarring, but that was what the bandages were there for, surely.

Concern once again flashed over Xisuma’s face. “It’s… Probably best for him to explain.”

He strode away, leaving Mumbo as confused as when he first woke up on the ship.


	11. Chapter 11

Mumbo wasn’t alone for long. Doc’s heavy footsteps gave him away, and they gave Mumbo enough warning to not jump when Doc spoke from right behind him.

“Hello, Mumbo.”

He didn’t sound outright threatening, so maybe he was just naturally intimidating. It wasn’t a tone of voice that Mumbo instantly trusted, but he hoped that helping Grian and Iskall to escape had put enough good marks in Doc’s book that he would at least be safe around him, even if he wasn’t comfortable.

“Good to see you up and about.”

Huh. Maybe he had earned enough good marks.

“Evening, Doc.” He tried to sound neutral anyway, just in case.

“Someone’s a bit grumpy today.” Doc swung his leg over the crate, taking a seat next to Mumbo.

“Capt— Uh, Xisuma said you wanted to talk to me about my hands?” Mumbo asked, ignoring Doc’s jab.

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“He said it would be better for you to explain.”

“Ah.” Did Doc look… Apologetic?

He held his metal arm out to Mumbo. He hadn’t had the time to look at it properly when he’d first seen it. Up close, it was clearly a masterful piece of engineering. The metal plates curved delicately, mimicking the flex of real muscles. Doc seemed to have no issues controlling it if his fighting was anything to go by.

“Iskall built this, all of this—” He tapped his metal cheek, “—for me after an accident with one of our cannons a few years ago. We don’t have that cannon any more, don’t worry.” He quickly reassured when Mumbo looked concerned, “But then I learnt how to maintain and build these pieces. I’m good at it, so you shouldn’t have too many problems.”

“Problems?”

This was even more confusing.

“When you saved Iskall from that knife, it… Caused quite a lot of damage. Cleo’s a good surgeon, but she’s not a miracle worker.”

Was he really going where Mumbo thought he was going with this?

“I didn’t have long, so they’re some old prototypes. I’ll teach you how to fix any issues that come up—”

Doc’s voice faded into background noise as Mumbo stared at his wrapped hands.

“Take it off.” He interrupted whatever Doc was going on about.

“—help to—What?”

“The bandages. Take them off.” He held his hands out to Doc, “Please.”

“Look man, I’m not doing anything until Cleo gives you the all clear. She’s the only one taking those off.”

“Then at least be clear!” Mumbo snapped, “ _What_ are you _talking_ about?” Doc had seemed like such a straightforward man, why was he beating around the bush now?

Doc looked like he was about to snap back, but he took a breath and caught himself. “We’ve done our best as a thank you for helping us get Grian and Iskall back. But parts of your hands were too far gone. I’ve replaced them with metal prosthetics.”

Oh. He was going where Mumbo thought he had been.

He studied the bandages, letting the news sink in. Metal hands, huh? That wasn’t too bad. He could live with metal hands. Doc didn’t seem like his life had been too impacted with his arm.

He tried to move his fingers and they twitched pretty normally. If he could still do that, then were most parts of his hands intact? Or if not, how was it working?

“Like your arm? How does it work?”

“Redstone,” Doc immediately sounded more comfortable, “If you grind it into a dust it has some very interesting properties. Practically everything on this ship has a redstone circuit in it somewhere.”

A red dust. “It’s in your emergency signal things too?”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff. Those are simple though, just enough to emit a pulse for the ship to detect. My eye is a lot more complicated than that.” Doc sounded proud. “It’s a bit tricky, but it can be used to make some incredible stuff.”

“I want to see my hands. Can we please go see Cleo?”

Doc squinted at the other end of the deck, where people were still milling around. “I think she’s over there now, actually.” He waved at the group, “Hey! Cleo!”

A woman with orange hair excused herself.

“Hello, Doc. And Mumbo, was it?” The woman smiled.

Mumbo nodded. He automatically offered a handshake.

“I don’t think so.” She chuckled softly, “And I suspect that’s exactly why you wanted to talk to me. Unless you’re being a good welcome buddy and introducing him to the crew, Doc.”

Doc huffed, but he was smiling as well. “He wants the bandages off.”

“Is that so?” Cleo raised an eyebrow. Her green eyes packed a piercing stare.

“Yes please.” Said Mumbo, a tad meekly. Was everyone on this ship intimidating?

_Duh,_ of course _they know how to be intimidating,_ his brain said, _They’re pirates_. Funny how he’d forgotten that for a moment.

“Well, I suppose they need to be changed anyway. Doc’s handiwork is usually quite thorough, so it should have integrated itself well enough to unwrap your hands without causing any more damage,” she said, reaching the knots that held the dressings together, “You can have a look, but I’m putting fresh ones on after. Wrapped-up hands are hands that won’t be used, and not using them for a few days is your best chance at having them heal properly.”

Mumbo felt the cloth shift and loosen, then it fell away.

The first thing he noticed was how shiny they were. For a second, all he could see were bright reflections as light bounced off the curved metal. _I wonder if Doc polished it_ , he thought vaguely. No way some old prototype lying around on a sailing ship would reflect the dim evening sky so strongly.

His right hand was entirely gone. Four plates replaced his palm, a dark rubbery webbing visible in the gaps. Each finger was broken into three silver segments, all shining and perfectly smooth, with a ball fitted at the base of each one. To his surprise, his left thumb and forefinger had remained intact. The rest of his left palm looked the same as his right, but with only three of the metal plates. There was more dark webbing too, fused to the sore skin around his thumb. He slowly, cautiously curled his hands, watching the plates slide under each other, fingers rotating and bending. Not entirely smoothly, and not without more effort than he was used to, but it would be manageable. Then he carefully stretched both hands wide, exposing more of the webbing between his fingers as it was pulled apart. He tried to bend his right thumb in to touch his pinkie, but something sparked. The small shock made him jump, bashing his shoulder on Doc’s chin, who had been leaning in to admire his handiwork.

“Sorry! It zapped me!” He apologised immediately.

“S’fine,” Doc grunted, rubbing the non-metal side of his chin, “There must be a loose connection in there. I did wonder why I had that fancy wire lying around. Guess it doesn’t work as nicely as it looks.”

“Is it something that needs to be dealt with before it heals?” Cleo asked.

“No, it’s nothing to do where it joins. It would be better, actually, to wait for it to heal so I can take off that plate without worrying about how to put it back,” He turned to Mumbo, “So maybe just don’t do that until I’ve fixed it.”

“Sure,” Mumbo was still transfixed. The backs of both hands were covered in metal sheeting too, but as he looked closer at each of the plates, he saw a gentle red glow seeping out from underneath. Even slight movements made it brighten, little pinpricks of red darting around under the metal. Maybe he could use his hands as a torch if he shook them hard enough. He nearly laughed at the thought of him manically waving his hands around in the dark.

“You’ll see them plenty when they’re healed.” Cleo was holding a few fresh strips of material expectantly.

He held out his new hands and Cleo wrapped them up again, although now he knew what they looked like, he was surprised at how well he could feel. There was no texture or warmth from the cloth, but he could feel the sensation of something resting on his skin in places where that skin didn’t exist anymore.

Doc must have remembered his own adjustment time to his prosthetics, because he quickly guessed why Mumbo looked puzzled, “Redstone can do astounding things. Laying it throughout the iron when it’s being made gives a different metal, one that can transmit signals to give a small amount of touch sensation. Mine is more refined than yours, but that’s something that can be changed with a plate upgrade.”

“How is it… How am I…?” He curled and uncurled his now-bound fingers, “Doing this?”

“That’s all Cleo,” Doc tilted his head towards Cleo, who was tying off the new bandages around his wrists, “She fiddled around with your few remaining bits and pieces and patched them into the base structure. That’s the stretchy layer under the plates,” He added, “With a bit of redstone magic and surgical engineering, the hand can recognise your brain sending it the signals to move.”

“And you built it? You can just _make_ things like this? Just like that?” Mumbo could only imagine how intricate the mechanisms must have been to fit in the space of a hand.

“Xisuma’s always saying the more people who can work with redstone, the better,” Doc shrugged, “I wanted to learn about it, so he asked Iskall to teach me.”

“Could I learn about it?”

“I… Don’t know,” Doc looked a little surprised, “You would have to ask Xisuma.”

“I’m sure he would say yes,” Cleo said, “Just looking at your excited little face would melt his heart.”

Mumbo felt his cheeks heat up slightly with embarrassment at that. Xisuma had been kind, but he was pretty sure that was because he saw him as harmless. He didn’t need to add ‘face like an excited puppy’ to what Xisuma thought of him.

“Well, that’s your hands sorted for now. You’ll need those changed tomorrow as well, and then the day after that they should be fine to come off and you can start getting used to your new toys,” Cleo smiled, “Your back is healing nice and quickly last time I saw, so there shouldn’t be any issues there. Try not to fall on it,” She added, “And I’m off to bed. You should be too, Doc. Both of you.”

She was right. Mumbo was tired. He’d been too preoccupied to notice the sun slipping further under the horizon.

Oh. Right.

“Um… Where should I sleep?” Mumbo asked timidly. It seemed like such a silly question, but he didn’t want to break some unknown courtesy, which he was bound to do with one blunder or another if he didn’t ask.

“Patient’s room is probably best. That’s where you woke up. There’s a few spare beds in the crew quarters, but I don’t think an upstanding sailor such as yourself would be happy to bed down amongst pirates.” There was a playful lilt to Cleo’s voice, “Then again, maybe that’s why you saved them.”

She walked away while Mumbo spluttered, his brain and mouth completely unable to form any response to the unprompted insinuation. Doc laughed at him.

When he was done being amused, Doc got up, stretching his back as he did so. When Mumbo remained sitting on the crate like a lemon, he asked, “You know how to get back to the patient’s room?”

Mumbo nodded slowly, retracing the route he and Xisuma had taken earlier in his mind. The ship couldn’t be that big anyway. He’d find it.

“Night then.” Doc headed for the stairs, following the last few stragglers and leaving Mumbo alone in the budding moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brain had so much trouble describing Mumbo's hands that I ended up having to sketch it out before I could write about them


	12. Chapter 12

The Hermit was definitely bigger than Mumbo had thought it was. There were far more winding corridors than he remembered from his way up to the deck. Doors littered the walls, and even though he’d checked every room he came across, he had yet to see a single person, let alone the room he actually wanted to go to.

Sighing, he pushed open yet another door.

There was no one in here either.

But the room was far from empty.

Glowing lines crisscrossed the floor, illuminating the dark planks with warm red light. They ran up and over every crate and box, winding across every surface. Small grey and white components littered the room, flashing and ticking as the dust inside each transparent wire pulsed with light. It was fascinating. There could have been fifty different circuits performing fifty different complicated actions, or it could have been the most basic redstone on the ship, Mumbo had no way of knowing.

He stood in the doorway, completely captivated.

A faint haze hung in the air, tiny specks of the red dust floating around him. It scraped his throat, not painfully, but not familiarly. He could easily imagine himself working tirelessly on something like this, emerging hours later from a room filled with red clouds. In that future, it would take hours for him to dig the red shimmer out of his nails and for days, every cough would have a red shine.

He could almost _feel_ the pulse of the circuitry through the air. Small lamps flickered on and off, things moved and bounced off green pads, others ticked and chimed when a signal arrived, pleasing tones that must indicate a success of some kind. Everything was tuned to perfection, not a single signal dawdling.

Mumbo’s urge to fiddle grew. He wanted to move wires, change things, just to see what would happen. To see how all this worked, learn the fundamental principles of this strange redstone and discover what he could create with them.

He carefully stepped between the lines laid out on the floor. Crouching down, he reached out to touch the nearest component…

But before he could do anything, a voice drifted towards him from down the corridor.

“What is that door doing open again? I keep telling people to shut it behind them, ugh, Iskall’s going to be so annoyed if anything’s moved…” Footsteps arrived at the doorway as he turned to look.

“Mumbo? What are you doing in here?”

It was Grian.

“Just, uh…” He struggled to come up with an excuse. “Looking for somewhere to sleep?”

Grian raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Okay,” Mumbo surrendered, “I got lost.”

He looked back at the room, hungrily taking it all in. “And then I got distracted.”

“Well come on out, I don’t want to be the one to tell Iskall he has to reset all his timings again.” Grian beckoned him, “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

“No, no, I didn’t.”

Grian closed the door as Mumbo stepped out. “So, you’re into redstone? I didn’t realise the navy used it.”

“They don’t,” Mumbo said quickly, “I’ve never seen it before.” He held up one bandaged hand, “And now I guess I have a reason to learn about it.”

The corridor wasn’t particularly bright, but it was light enough for Mumbo to see the huge amount of guilt on Grian’s face.

“I’m so sorry!” Grian burst out, “I’m so sorry you got hurt, I’m so sorry! Iskall kept telling me I should be more careful and that getting a ride on a navy ship was a stupid risk, but I didn’t listen and I got both of you hurt.” He stared at his feet, wringing his hands together.

“Grian…” Mumbo raised his hand, aiming to pat Grian’s shoulder in a comforting way. He paused when he remembered Cleo’s warning to not do anything with his hands. His hesitation only upset Grian more.

“I don’t remember, I was _there_ and Scar had to _tell me_ what happened, I was _right there_ with you, I could have helped and I don’t even _remember—_ ” A sob cut him off.

“Grian…” He tried again, “You looked really out of it, mate. You were barely holding yourself up.” He looked at Grian’s hands. The blood had been cleaned off, but his knuckles and arms still sported dark bruises. “And by the look of those, you did your fair share of fighting before we got you out.”

“Yeah, but I could have—”

Mumbo interrupted, “Don’t you dare say you could have done more. You did enough. You both got out alive. If you’d had to push yourself any more you would be much worse off right now.” His voice was quiet, but the conviction in his tone had a firm foundation.

“...Right…” Grian didn’t look like he completely believed him, but seemed enough to calm him down for now, “Um, you wanted to go to bed, right?”

Mumbo nodded, accepting Grian’s weak attempt at changing the subject. He’d have to talk to Scar, ask him to keep an eye on Grian’s tendency to blame himself.

“Well, it’s a nice night and I was going to stay up on deck, so if you want to join me…?” He tried to sound casual, but desperation slipped through in the undertones and a silent plea not to be left alone shone in his eyes.

“Sure. Not like I could find where I’m supposed to be sleeping anyway.”

~

It turned out that Grian wouldn’t have been alone on deck after all. Scar waved at them from the helm when they arrived, but made no move to join them. Mumbo let Grian lead him to a nest of boxes by the mast. Grian dug around in one, pulling out a thick blanket. He laid it on the floor, gesturing for Mumbo to sit with him.

The blanket was a lot rougher than it looked, and Mumbo was glad that the evening’s breeze had dissipated. It wasn’t the type of blanket he would want to use as an actual blanket.

And it was quite small. In his shuffling around trying to stay on the square of fabric, Grian snuggled against him. It took Mumbo by surprise, but he didn’t move away. The last time he’d been hugged, properly hugged, was a long time ago. Probably before he’d left Scar. Certainly not since he’d joined the navy.

But it was nice. Warm hands lightly holding onto his shirt. The tickle as golden hair brushed against his face. Grian’s gentle breathing, his own slowly mirroring it. It was their own peaceful moment after all the chaos. A little bubble of time in which their only responsibility was to look up at the stars and enjoy each other’s company.

“Did Xisuma talk to you yet?” Grian’s voice rumbled through Mumbo’s chest. He sounded half-asleep already.

“Yeah,” It came out more wistful than he intended, “He said we’re making port in a week.”

“We?” He could hear Grian’s smirk and raised eyebrow.

“’ _We_ ’ as in, I’m a guest on your ship.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at the sparkling sky. It wasn’t as pretty as that redstone dust, didn’t have the same glimmer, but it was still beautiful. And the sight was even sweeter with Grian’s head resting on his shoulder.

“...You could stay, you know.” Grian’s voice was barely a whisper, almost lost to the gentle sounds of the sea.

Join the Hermit?

“Stay?”

“...Yeah. Xisuma would love to have you.” Grian yawned before continuing, “And… Iskall doesn’t want you to go.”

“Just Iskall?”

“...Maybe me too.” He could hear a smile, but Grian’s voice was drifting further towards sleep.

Mumbo smiled too as he felt Grian relax into him, head snuggling down on his shoulder and his breathing deep and even.

“Night, Grian.” He whispered, “Sweet dreams.”

Quiet footsteps drew his attention back up. It was Scar.

_You just missed him_ , Mumbo mouthed, tilting his head towards the sleeping Grian.

“That’s fine,” Scar said softly, “He sleeps like a rock. And it was you I was after, anyway.” He smiled. “Just wanted to check you’re alright.”

“Oh. Right.”

He thought about it. New hands, maybe some new morals… and new friends?

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Iskall wants you to stay with us, you know.”

“He mentioned it.” Mumbo subtly gestured to Grian, careful not to disturb him.

“I bet he did.” Scar smiled. “I’ve really missed you, Mumbo. It’s so good to see you again.”

“I…” Mumbo tried his hardest to keep his voice down, “I’m sorry, Scar. I shouldn’t have left you. You were right about the navy, too. Bunch of awful people. I’ve never done something I regret so much.” He stared at the deck, trying to make out the grain of the planks to avoid meeting Scar’s eyes in the dark.

“Well, you’ve got a choice now. You don’t have to make the same mistake.”

Mumbo dragged his eyes back to Scar. He was rummaging in a crate and he pulled out another blanket.

“Life is always going to blow you in different directions, Mumbo. Sometimes all you can choose is who you want to explore it with.”

Scar draped the blanket over him as he felt his eyes start to slide shut. Scar chuckled lightly. “Goodnight, Mumbo. Have sweet dreams.”

He’d never felt more at home under the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! thank you everyone for your lovely comments and everyone for reading my little story! It really means a lot to me that so many of you have enjoyed it!


	13. Chapter 13

Seven days. Mumbo had only been on the Hermit for one week and somehow it felt like a lifetime. Not a bad, I-can’t-wait-to-leave lifetime, but as though he’d fallen into a life shaped perfectly just for him, comforting and safe, with the feeling that adventure was waiting around the corner. Every single person had welcomed him with open arms, inviting him into their world. He had helped around the ship with them and it didn’t feel like work, not like it had in the navy. He hadn’t dragged his feet, hadn’t kept his head down to avoid attention. He had sung along to Etho’s music, been bewildered by Joe’s prose and laughed loudly with the rest of the crew at Zedaph’s jokes.

A whole future had sprung to life in front of him. One where he got to explore the world on a ship full of friends, just like the stories he and Scar had played out when they were kids.

He had spoken to Iskall that morning he woke up on deck with Grian curled up in his arms—mostly because it was Iskall’s laughter that woke them.

 _“Look at the pair of you,”_ he had said, _“Absolutely adorable.”_

Mumbo had blushed and stuttered. Grian had joined the laughter.

Maybe Cleo was a miracle worker, despite whatever Doc said, because Iskall had barely lent on the crutches at his side. It looked like he was the one supporting them.

Then again, maybe she wasn’t. His eye had been deemed irreparable, with Doc swiftly offering to build a replacement.

Mumbo had watched him for hours, bent over a desk in a room that was even smaller with two of them crammed inside. He had pestered him with every question that came to mind, intrigued by the purpose of each and every component. Explanations had flowed easily from Doc’s mouth, followed by his own _“Wow!”_ or _“Oh!”_ or “ _Interesting!”_

Doc seemed to value his input on the mechanisms, adding a changeable decorative eyepiece at his suggestion. And he had replaced the faulty wire in Mumbo’s hand. If Mumbo had thought the outside of his new hands was impressive, that was nothing compared to the minute circuitry housed within the metal casing.

They had spent two solid days in that room. Mumbo was still finding red dust in his hair.

Iskall had been thrilled with his new eye, delighted at the different settings and extras Doc had added. He was even more pleased to know that Mumbo was eager to learn more.

Mumbo had washed dishes with Scar after an evening of games—after Doc had assured him that his new hands were waterproof, of course—and it hadn’t felt like a chore to be over and done with as soon as possible. Cheery conversation had filled the air between them, erasing any awkwardness Mumbo though they might encounter. If it weren’t for the new stories of their time apart that they shared, it would have been like he’d never left.

He had learnt that the blonde woman’s name was False. She was still intimidating, never seen without a sword, but he saw her in a new light. He learnt that her nerves of steel stemmed from a desire to keep her chosen family safe and when he spoke to her now, he didn’t feel like an outsider.

There was a kindness that ran rampant on this ship, hidden poorly in smiling faces, selfless offers of assistance and open hearts.

Their warm, loving hearts. How could he ever have thought that these people were heartless?

The Hermit was somewhere he would happily stay for the rest of his life.

Which was why that, right now, standing on a pirate ship surrounded by a crew that he’d so easily fallen in love with, he was fidgeting under Xisuma’s gaze.

Port was only an hour away.

“I think I speak for all of us, Mumbo, when I say thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you’ve done.” Xisuma’s voice was as honest and kind as ever. “Thank you for your kindness and for your bravery.” He offered a small bag to Mumbo.

It weighed heavily in his hands when he took it, the same weight that lay on his heart, and not because it was filled with gold.

He didn’t want this parting gift.

“Thank you.” He said, because it was polite, even as his throat tried to catch the words before they escaped and his tongue turned to lead in his mouth.

Someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. Scar stood next to him.

“Have you made your mind up, Mumbo? Is this where we lose you?” He said it in a joking tone, because the contradiction of a typical navy sailor on a pirate ship was funny. Or it usually would be, anyway. Mumbo didn’t find it very funny right now. Not when the sorrow was so clear in Scar’s eyes.

Light laughter rippled around the crowd but it was more reserved than he’d ever heard it before. Polite chuckles that petered out after only a moment. And it could have been his imagination, but more than one pair of eyes shared Scar’s sadness.

He didn’t want to make the same mistake again.

He held the bag of coins back out to Xisuma.

“Actually,” He said, “If you want to thank me… Please let me stay.”

One of Xisuma’s eyebrows lifted. Not in surprise or disgust. It was more like, despite thanking him for his bravery, he hadn’t expected Mumbo to have the guts to ask.

Grian squirmed his way through the crowd, Iskall close behind him. They stood at his side and he could feel support radiating from them.

“You think you would adjust to living on a pirate ship? We’re slightly different to the navy.” But Xisuma was grinning as he said it, his tone carrying far more bark than bite.

He looked around at the beaming faces of everyone he’d come to know. Grian looked like he was barely holding himself back from springing a hug on him, and Iskall didn’t look far off from it either. Even Doc looked proud of him. Scar’s hand slipped into his.

He was ready.

“Then I guess I’ll learn a slightly different way to sail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the story is over :) Thanks for reading!


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